


A Crash Course on Being Human

by the_gothic_assassin



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alexios as deimos, Also Alexios cries a lot because it was more socially acceptable to cry then, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autoromantic, Autosexual, Chaotic Wholesome, Comedy, Dialogue-Driven, Drama, Dramedy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff with a Trippy Ending, However it’s actually quite wholesome, Hurt/Comfort, I should stop tagging before this ends up on ao3tags blog, Lots of questionable/problematic stuff, M/M, Narcissism and self-loathing, Post-Canon, Pretentious use of pseudo-socratic method, Really the whole thing is talk therapy for Alexios, Standard mental health trigger warnings apply, This has nothing to do with dacryphilia I swear, Which I think is much better than the emotional constipation of our era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 06:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21011045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_gothic_assassin/pseuds/the_gothic_assassin
Summary: Everything feels different when one is no longer a god. Alexios, formerly known as Deimos, needs to come to terms with the fact that those who worshipped him as one are all but eliminated, and he needs to learn how to be human. There are people who can help him, his sister Kassandra's friends from Athens who are the best minds in all of the Greek world. It won't be an easy task, however. In fact, this journey towards humanity seems to be quite an Odyssey, and Alexios isn't sure if he can keep afloat.





	1. Hippokrates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is rather personal (read: self-indulgent) since my own personality is pretty much Deimos-lite. I wasn’t even sure if I should be sharing it or if anyone should be reading it. Then again, like Deimos, I need to learn to let myself be more vulnerable and open. Besides, Deimos fics are so, so rare, and it almost feels selfish not to share. So, here we go.
> 
> This fic is very Deimos-centric. It’s not that the Eagle Bearer isn’t important, but she has a whole game about her, whereas Deimos only has maybe half an hour in that game. That’s why I choose to focus on him.
> 
> Also, I really, really love the Athens squad.
> 
> Suggested listening: Siouxsie and the Banshees - “Sick Child”

"Look where you're going, malaka!" a sour-faced youth had the nerve to hiss at Alexios right after getting in the latter's way. Alexios raised his fist, ready to give the boy a good beating. Didn't the youth notice his obvious superiority? Could he not tell that the man he just walked into was once revered as a fucking demigod?

"Let him go, Alexios," said Kassandra, "He's just a boy."

Alexios groaned. Everything felt different when one was no longer a god, he thought, glancing around the Athenian street he found himself on, shuddering to think that he was a mortal like any man or woman he saw around him. As much as he wanted to elevate himself above them, they would still be traversing the same street as he, with the same sky hanging over both him and them. This was a realisation that came to him quite recently, and it had brought him considerable anguish, to say the least. It didn’t help that he was travelling with Kassandra, who would at times stop to talk to orphans or help old people with odd requests, to do whatever it was that he, as a god, never stooped to do.

Not that he had ever been a god. That was a delusion fed to him by the Cult, with their twisted obsession with his peculiar bloodline. He might have fought like one in battles, had a few inhuman abilities, and had magical connection with some curious artifacts, but that was where his godlike specialness ended. Unlike gods or even demigods from myths and lores, he was not exempt from mundane human suffering, and could not do without the help of other human beings.

In fact, that was why he found himself in Athens today.

\-----

Months ago, soon after she and Myrrine took him back home from Mount Taygetos, Kassandra started noticing odd things about Alexios. At first, it all seemed benign enough. He would forgo sleep for days and nights. Then, when exhaustion finally took over, he’d doze off at unusual hours, at places in their home where he would normally be too vigilant to even relax. (Once she saw him napping on a bench next to Stentor’s room, and then startled awake, visibly upset and embarrassed at his vulnerability.) She thought it was just a personal quirk. An endearing one too, she might add, since watching those small visits to Hypnos reminded her of their childhood when she’d watch baby Alexios sleep. She knew that this was not healthy, but she did not know that this was a sign towards something more alarming.

Then she noticed something less endearing. Alexios was so quick to anger, even by Spartan standard, and sleep deprivation probably had a role in that. She knew that he was violent, but she did not know how little it took to set him off. He would become irritated by the most trivial things, things like misplaced items, wrong word choice, or any perceived slight real or imagined. Sometimes it was entertaining to hear him go on decidedly unlaconic tirades about them, some of which she even agreed with. Most of the times, however, it was disconcerting, as he would smash objects, slam doors, or growl like a hurt animal.

And sometimes, when his anger was too great for rage to contain, he would lock himself in his room, his angry cries heard through the door. Then he would emerge just to go to the water basin and wash tear stains off his face, speaking to no one, and slink back into his room again. It was heartbreaking to watch.

His was a family of warriors and none was terrorised by his temper, and they knew enough tragedy to understand his tears. Still, they worried that he would lose control outside of home, without anyone who could placate him, and become a danger to others, and to himself.

\-----

Finally, Alexios did what his family feared he would do. He went out alone to get one of his greaves fixed, and the blacksmith was rude to him. He was upset and ended up wrecking the whole shop, and was so close to injuring the poor blacksmith. A kid in that area had to run across town to fetch the misthios. She had to swoop in, apologise on his behalf, pay for the damage and, with Ikaros’ help, drag him home.

“Malaka!” Kassandra yelled at him as soon as they got home, with an anger that could match his, “You can’t go around damaging random people’s property. We’re better than this.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Alexios hissed.

“Yes, and leave it to me to clean up your mess with my hard-earned drachmae!” she snarled, “You’re fucking unbelievable!”

“So I’m a burden to you. Why did you save me, then? You should have killed me on Mount Taygetos that day. It’s not too late. Kill me now.” He unsheathed his sword and thrust its handle towards her. “Here. Do it. Make it quick or slay me with pain. I don’t care either way.”

“That’s not what I meant…” Kassandra spoke in a softer voice now, regaining her composure and patience as she remembered how damaged his psyche was. She took his sword, put it aside, and said, "But you can't do this to me. You can't threaten me with your death to get me to forgive the things you did wrong."

Alexios growled. Then the growl cooled into a sigh. He sat down, and said, “Is that what you think I wanted? I don't want forgiveness; I want death. I really did, and still do, wish to perish at your hands. Even as a child, I lulled myself to sleep with the thought that the next day could be my last. But back then, it was just a lullaby, something that comforted me when needed.

“Then the Cult was gone. I became a pathetic demigod with no worshipper. There’s also this painful realisation that I hadn’t even been a god, that I had merely been a tool to them. Soon the death wish became impossible to ignore. I knew that you, the Eagle Bearer who shared the same blood as I, could kill me. That’s why I was on the mountain that day. I was too proud to be my own Thanatos, and was wishing that you would take that role.”

Kassandra froze, “I never knew this. I thought you were there simply because you wanted to tear me apart.”

“I was hoping we would tear each other apart, and that would be the closest thing to love I would ever feel,” said Alexios, his tears falling down his face with the weight of his confession, “And the death wish, it never goes away, Kassandra. Even now, there is not a single day I don’t think about death. I know it’s a fucking miracle that I’m still alive after everything that’s happened to me, but it’s a struggle just to keep my heart beating. There is an exhausting anger that burns up everything inside of me until there’s nothing left. And I’m angry just for being alive.”

Kassandra sat down in front of him, and wrapped her arms around his trembling shoulders. “Alexios,” she said, “I’m so sorry. I thought I would be enough for you, but I was wrong. I want to help you. I really do. But I can’t do it on my own, nor can I do it with just our family. I still know someone else who might be able to help you, though.”

“And who would that be?”

“Hippokrates. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

“But I’m not ill…” Alexios mumbled, thinking of his past as the Cult’s most feared weapon. If they could see him _ now _—as a sick child, his tears soaking his sister’s tunic, his breath hitching with each wave of tears. Even though they’re all dead, his face went hot with humiliation just by the thought of it.

“Oh, but you are, and there’s no shame in that.” She planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t die. I like having you around, little brother.”

\-----

After a perfunctory protest, Alexios agreed to visit Hippokrates. He was in too much pain to object. Kassandra sent a letter to the doctor, asking if he could help her brother. The reply was an emphatic yes. She and Alexios then said goodbye to Myrrine (who wished she hadn’t been too busy with Spartan duties to join them), Nikolaos (who asked way too many questions and grated on Alexios's nerves), and Stentor (who heaved a sigh of relief after they announced their departure.) Then the two siblings began travelling from their home to the physician’s current clinic. After some days, they arrived at the destination.

After careful examination, Hippokrates concluded that there was an imbalance in Alexios's humours, a result of the torture he had long endured and the violence he himself had committed. He had so much choler that some of it had burnt and became excess melancholy. He also wasn't sanguine enough to balance out the biles. The physician then prescribed a list of foods and herbs to consume and to avoid.

“Here’s another thing. What we do has an effect on our temperament,” said Hippokrates, “I would suggest you refrain from aggression as much as you possibly can, for a time, to keep yellow bile in check. For now, you may train your body for self-defence, but not for battle. And for the rest of your life, always avoid unnecessary violence.”

Alexios groaned under his breath. This prescription made him want to fight someone already. Then, upon seeing Kassandra frown at him, he sighed, “I mean, I will avoid combat for now. It’s not like I have anything to fight for these days.”

“Ah, but that’s not entirely true, is it?” said Hippokrates, “You still have yourself to fight for. Not all fights are violent, you see. I know that you have so much anger in you, but you’ll have to learn not to let it consume you. It will not be easy. Sometimes you may find yourself in the tight grip of passion that is hard to break away from, but you are stronger than your anger. Remember that.”

Alexios nodded quietly. In his mind, however, he had already killed ten imaginary people, and would probably kill more if the doctor gave another prescription that required him to restrain himself.

“Now, one last thing,” said Hippokrates, “To allow your temperament to become more sanguine and less melancholic, it is imperative that you have conversations with various people. Civil conversations, mind you, not ones with threats of violence looming large.”

“This one shouldn’t be too hard, if people in Sparta actually _ talk _, that’s it. But I’ll try, doctor,” said Alexios, killing five more people in his mind.

“My brother and I thank you,” said Kassandra, “First you help me find mater, and now this. It’s very generous of you, considering what he did, who he was, what you saw…”

“I’m glad that I have an opportunity to do right by him. As you know, I had to turn him away when he was but a baby, for the case was too difficult and I didn't know how to treat him then. Your mother’s sorrow still haunts me to this day,” said Hippokrates, “Besides, that he is here today means he is no longer the person he used to be.”

“Still, I couldn’t thank you enough.” She then elbowed Alexios to thank the good doctor also.

“Th… thank you.”

Hippokrates nodded and wished them a safe journey. "And give Myrrine my regards," he told them.

As they left the clinic, Kassandra thought about the prescription. Alexios was to refrain from aggression, but Sparta, which was their home now, was built upon the very thing he was to avoid. And conversations? Laconia wasn’t really known for vibrant conversations. But, she knew a place famous for exactly that.

\-----

“Change of plan, Alexios. We’re not going home. We’re going to Athens,” said Kassandra.

Alexios looked at her with a perplexed, almost bewildered, expression, “Why Athens? I did terrible things there. Did you forget?”

“No. How could I? But the greatest minds in all of the Greek world are there, and they’re my friends. They can make you better, I’m sure of it,” said she, “I myself was once a selfish person, always thinking about drachmae and little else. Then I met Sokrates. I found him to be incredibly annoying at first. Then I went about my business and, to my surprise, I found myself making choices that weren't selfish! His questions made me think and inspired me to be better."

"I know who Sokrates is. He's quite a character from what I've heard. But just how selfish were you exactly? Tell me, so that I’ll know how much he’s helped you.”

“Well, I’ll give you an example. One time in Kephallonia, a priestess asked me to find a legendary spear, so that she could display it in her temple and raise funds for poor people, among other things. She gave me some clues on how to find it. I looked for it and I found it. Then I lied to her and said I couldn’t find it, so that I could keep that legendary thing. But the spear turned out to be so very mediocre in an actual fight, so I went back to the priestess and sold it to her for a hefty sum.[1]”

“Wow. You were a real horseshit of a person. Sokrates did a marvellous job changing that," he blinked, "But are you sure he’s someone I need? I don’t want to waste time."

"I am! I’m sure he can do the same thing to your sadness and anger that he did to my selfishness and greed. But if you’re still not convinced, there are others, too. I think you’ll like Alkibiades. When he’s not hiring people to do weird tasks, he’s a bubble of joy.”

“Joyful people are the worst!” he groaned.

“You just envy them,” she laughed.

“Now, let’s entertain the idea that I don’t find your plan ludicrous,” said he, “How do you know that there’s no bounty on my head, or some authority seeking justice against me for what I did in that city?”

“Do you fear for your life, brother?” she raised an eyebrow, “About that, I’ve told people that I’ve already killed Deimos, and most people think Perikles died of the plague. Only a few people know the truth.”

“That can work,” he nodded, “I don’t fear for my life, by the way. I’m suicidal, remember? It’s just that…”

“What is it?”

It’s just that he didn’t want Kassandra to come into harm because of him again. He had caused her enough pain and already felt enough shame for that. That she was more than capable of defending herself didn’t make the thought more bearable. He tried to say that out loud, but nothing came out. Instead, he said, “Never mind. I forgot what I was going to say.”

She nodded, not wanting to press him to say what he could not say. Then she continued, “You’ll need to change out of your armour. It is so golden and so fabulous and I wish you could keep wearing it, but you’ll be too identifiable as Deimos. I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow, one that you really like. Would you like that?”

“Are you trying to lure me to Athens with shiny new armour, bought with your _ hard-earned drachmae _? You must really want me to go there. Alright, I’ll indulge you,” he laughed curtly, “Do I need a new name also? Just so you know, I’ll only use a fake name if I like it enough. I won’t use names like Testikles or something as obviously fake.”

“I actually knew a man named Testikles once, rest his soul. Although, come to think of it, that could be a fake name. Athletes are basically thespians with more muscles.”

“You once competed in the Olympics. Are you a thespian as well?”

“I’ve even acted on stage,” she laughed, “But yes, I am, and not just on stage or in the arena.”

“You and me both, Kassandra. I think you’re the only person who has seen my true face,” said he, gazing upwards, lost in thoughts. Then he asked, “So, do I need a new name or not?”

“No, you don’t. People know of Deimos, but they don’t know of Alexios.”

“Now they will, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

“Why not? Alexios is a great fellow,” said Kassandra, and that put a rare smile on Alexios's face.

\-----

After Alexios got his new set of armour, Kassandra sent a letter to call upon the Adrestria to come and take them to Athens. The first thing Alexios did on the ship was hiding his precious Deimos armour there. He _ was _ Alexios now. Funny how that name still felt awkward to his ears, even though that’s the name Kassandra and Myrinne insisted upon calling him. He’d do well to try to get used to it, since the name and the identity of Deimos could lead to his persecution in the city.

Still, he felt a sharp pain at having to denounce that part of himself, which he didn’t know why. Deimos was rotten. Why would he want to keep that monster around?

Barnabas and the ship crew, a ragtag of people from all walks of life, seemed to have come to regard Alexios as a part of their family. They were Kassandra’s chosen family. Still, he couldn't feel that they were his. Rather than feeling comforted, he felt suffocated by their friendliness. Their warmth made him feel like a child—a powerless, scared child. The violent seasickness he sometimes got, and the ensuing amusement and pity from some of the crew members, certainly didn’t help. His moods were sour for most of the time on board. The ship was not his place.

Then again, this world was not his place. Why would Kassandra's ship be any different?

To his relief, they soon arrived at a port near Athens. He was glad to be on dry land once again. He didn't expect to feel more at home there, but at least he would no longer get seasick.

Once he reached Athens, he realised that everything felt different when one was no longer a god, and he had yet to decide if he liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This is based on my actual choices in a Kephallonian quest. You can probably tell that I didn’t play my misthios the way most people play them. I’m going to base my Kassandra on how I played her.


	2. Aristophanes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Is not the road to Athens just made for conversation?” - Plato, Symposium
> 
> As in the game, the ancient Athens portrayed in this fic is idealised, with a bit of modern overlay, rather than fully realistic. 
> 
> Suggested listening: Kate Bush - “Sat In Your Lap”

“Is this where we’re staying?” Alexios yelled at soon as the innkeeper left the tiny room Kassandra chose to rent for them. Apparently, this would be their home in Athens. And what a modest home it was! He didn’t like this at all.

“Why not? It’s nice and clean, and the beds seem comfortable. What’s not to like?” Kassandra tilted her head, unable to see why her brother would be upset over a room she felt was very nice.

“It’s claustrophobic. Can’t I at least get my own room?”

“Why? We’ve shared rooms along our journey from Lakonia, and there didn’t seem to be a problem. And I’m sure you snore louder than I do!”

“I hate having your eyes on me when I’m trying to sleep. During the journey, it was very much temporary, so I tolerated it. This, it’ll be months, at least, in the same place!”

She groaned, “Fair enough. But have you any idea how expensive accommodation is in this city? Complain all you want, but it’s still my drachmae.”

Alexios sat on a bed and sulked. This was not the life he was used to. Cruel and tormenting as they were, the Cult also spared no expense in crafting their finest weapon. They didn’t give him much actual money, for fear of giving him too much independence, but they gave him everything else, from fancy armours to lodgings fit for the gods when he was on missions. And if there was any luxury he wanted but they dared fail to provide, he would demand it from them with determined wrath, and would almost always get it. He knew for a fact that, unlike him, Kassandra grew up first as a Spartan and later as a poor Kephallonian. Just a glint of extravagance for which she had to pay would make her uncomfortable. Even her own set of armour was a mishmash of loot and gifts.

Still, he’d have loved a more spacious room, and couldn't understand why he had to suffer her poverty-stricken mindset. After all, he also knew that she now made more than enough to rent a much nicer room!

“Come on, Alexios. Don’t frown. It’s not like we’re going to spend much time in this room,” said Kassandra, “We’ll be meeting people and doing things. We’ll get drunk at symposia with brilliant minds and go see hilarious plays while still hungover. We’ll go eat food that’s so much better than that damnable Spartan black broth. You’ll forget this room even exists!”

“Is that your idea of fun?” he scoffed.

“That’s a lot of people’s idea of fun.”

“I’m not ‘a lot of people’! How dare you even think I’d be impressed by such banal things?”

Amused by his grandiosity, she asked, “What’s your idea of fun, then?"

"How about hunting?"

"No violent things. Doctor's order. Try again.”

He froze, disarmed by the fact that he had no answer for this simple question, that he did not know how to have fun without shedding blood. “I… don’t know.”

Kassandra looked at her brother’s confusion and felt a pang of sadness in her chest. She then swore to herself that she would let him get a taste of wholesome pacifist fun, even if it’s the last thing the Moirai let her do!

\-----

Exhausted from travelling, they went to sleep early. (Alexios did so with the help of the herbs prescripted by Hippokrates.) After some hours, Kassandra woke up from her first sleep[1] to find that Alexios was already wide awake. He sat on his bed, hugging his knees and burying his face between them.

“What’s wrong, brother?” she asked as she lit a lamp, “Did you get any sleep at all?”

He lifted his face upon hearing her questions. His eyes, though still dry, showed distress. “I never thought it would come to this, Kassandra. What am I doing here? Why am I being helped by strangers? It’s such a humiliating disaster!”

She sat down next to him. “Look, Alexios. I, Kassandra, am the legendary Eagle Bearer. I am a mighty warrior who has fought hundreds, if not thousands. I am the stuff that poets write their epics about. And yet, I wouldn’t be where I am today without so, so many people who have helped me. There’s nothing humiliating in needing others’ help, you know?”

“Ha! You’re right, but you could have made that point without this much bragging.”

“Well,  _ you _ do it, a lot. Why can’t I do it too?”

“Since when should anyone do what I do?” said he, “I am a sick god, remember?”

“Fair point,” said she, “Still, I’m proud of you. You give the world a chance to heal you, and not everyone does that.”

“Let’s hope the world succeeds before I destroy it, or myself, or both.”

Kassandra nodded. Then they continued to sit together and converse until they were ready for the second sleep of the night.

\-----

Kassandra was happy to discover that Aristophanes had just put on a new play. She believed that his plays had much to offer Alexios. In their own ways, both men were aggressive. Perhaps Alexios could find an outlet for his aggression in comedy, as Aristophanes had.

And it would be fun to go see his new play, if nothing else.

She dragged the reluctant Alexios to the play. He wasn’t too happy at first, but by the time they reached the second act, he was chuckling (which was his way of laughing out loud) at the funny skits.

“That… wasn’t too bad?” said Alexios after the play ended.

Kassandra smiled. Then she went backstage to greet Aristophanes, and took Alexios with her.

“Aristophanes! I love this new play,” said Kassandra, “Although, I must admit, the third act was maybe a little too familiar. Are you sure you’re not taking inspiration from someone you may know?”

“Ah, yes. I may or may not have taken inspiration from one of your exploits,” said the playwright, “But I did add some artistic adjustments to the story.”

“That was your story in the third act, Kassandra?” said Alexios, “No wonder you're not pleased he put it in there!”

“Who’s this, Kassandra? Your latest conquest?” Aristophanes asked.

“What? No! Gross! This is my brother.”

"Stentor?"

"I am not Stentor," said Alexios.

Suddenly, Aristophanes’ expression darkened, and he said, “Right,  _ Deimos _ . I learnt of you when I did my research on Kleon for another play. I thought you died.”

“I am very much alive,” said Alexios, clenching his fists at the mention of Kleon.

“He doesn’t go by that name anymore,” said Kassandra, “His name is Alexios now, as it was before they took him.”

“It doesn’t matter what his name is,” said Aristophanes without bothering to cover his antipathy, “It’s never going to appear in my plays, nor will any variation of it. His stories are too unremarkable.”

Alexios tightened his fists.

“Don’t provoke him, Aristophanes,” said Kassandra, “He may no longer be our enemies’ champion, but he can still wreck you. And he has quite a temper, too.”

“Please, Kassandra,” Aristophanes scoffed, “I’ve taken jabs at people much more powerful than he. I’m not afraid of Kleon’s errand boy.”

Before Aristophanes could say another word, a swift punch landed on his nose and sent him to the ground. He nursed his bloody nose and looked up, only to see Alexios wiping blood off his knuckles.

“That was a warning,” Alexios hissed, “You’re lucky you’re Kassandra’s friend. Many others don’t get such a warning.”

“I told you not to provoke him!” Kassandra said through laughter as she helped her hapless friend back on his feet.

“You should keep your rabid brother on a leash!” Aristophanes gritted his teeth.

“Trust me, I would if I could,” said Kassandra, “But you had it coming this time, Aristophanes. Your nose will stop bleeding soon, don’t worry. Oh well! It’s best we leave now. Chaire!”

“You want to put me on a leash, sister? Didn’t you hear what he said about me?” Alexios raised his eyebrows as Kassandra dragged him away.

“Shut up, Alexios, or I’ll be tempted to put a muzzle on you as well,” Kassandra snickered as she led her brother to the stable.

They mounted their horses. Kassandra suggested they go get some air outside of town. Alexios agreed, and they rode.

“That’s a well-deserved punch if I ever saw one,” said the big sister as they approached the edge of the city.

Alexios grinned with delight.

“Too bad Aristophanes isn’t going to appreciate it,” she continued, “He’s probably thinking, ‘What an uncivilised brute he is!’ or something to that effect.”

He stopped smiling. “Ugh. Why?”

“This is Athens,” said she, “People here fight and settle matters with speech, intellect, and reputation.”

“I declare Athens dreadfully boring, then!”

She laughed. “I used to think so too, but that’s before I knew how their game was played. And to be completely honest, you aren’t so bad with words yourself,” said she, thinking about all his clever, caustic remarks that had cut through her back when he still went by the name Deimos, “Why limit yourself to physical violence?”

“I never told this to anyone, and if you tell it to someone else, you’re dead,” said he, his eyes darting around to make sure no one else was listening, “Yes, I do vent my anger verbally, but at the peak of it, I can always feel words and thoughts draining away from me, as if to make room for pure physical fury. It’s only after a punch or a slash can I find my speech again. This town, Kassandra, it could eat me alive.”

“Are you scared? It’s fine if you are.”

“No. It feels… challenging. Surely, the gods wish to know if I can be a warrior of words as well as a warrior of weapons. I shall impress them!” He raised his fist as he spoke.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she chuckled, “Maybe the gods don’t care, and the only one you need to impress is you.”

He pouted and speeded his horse away from her. She smiled, shook her head, and tried to catch up. For someone who had claimed to be a demigod, Alexios sure was incredibly sensitive towards the words and the opinions of mere mortals!

\-----

After a while, the siblings went back into the city. They decided to make a stop at the Agora. As it turned out, Alexios found the place horribly exasperating. The cacophony and the busy smells of various goods and people proved to be a battlefield, one in which he was not equipped to fight. He had to give deadly glares at merchants who tried to sell him things he didn’t need or want. Above that, he hated the anonymity. In the big city’s Agora, he was just another face among the crowd. Unless they wanted to sell him something, nobody even took a glance at him. (His new armour was shiny, but it didn’t draw attention quite like his fabulous golden one.) Just as he was about to tell Kassandra that he wanted to leave, someone spotted her.

It was Sokrates.

Sokrates greeted Kassandra. Then he saw Alexios, and for a split second, there was terror on his face. That's when Alexios remembered, Sokrates had seen him kill Perikles with a smug, remorseless smile on his face. He must have seemed like a complete evil, no, a dangerous yet mindless idiot!

Or maybe it was all in Alexios's head, for within the next second, Sokrates was genial again. “By the way, Kassandra, I don’t believe your companion and I have been  _ properly _ introduced,” said he.

“Oh, this is my brother Alexios. Alexios, this is Sokrates.”

“ _ The _ Alexios,” said Sokrates, “Kassandra has talked about you several times, especially after you’ve returned to your family. She thinks highly of you, I can tell.”

Alexios raised his eyebrows, turned towards his sister, and asked, “Do you, Kassandra?”

“Yes. Shouldn’t I?”

Sokrates gave a hearty laugh. Then he asked, “Has Athens greeted you well?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Alexios, “I may have punched a playwright who insulted me today. He’s just as ridiculous as his plays!”

“Let me guess,” said Sokrates, “The playwright was Aristophanes, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. How did you know?” asked Alexios.

“He has that effect on people. Others have tried to silence him in ways more severe than a punch,” said Sokrates, “Do you mind telling me what transpired between you?”

Alexios told Sokrates of the incident.

Sokrates nodded and said, “Ah, so Aristophanes said something that challenged your sense of pride, and you reacted. As a wordsmith, he was successful, was he not?”

Alexios frowned in confusion. “He got punched in the face. How was that success?”

“You said he insulted you and you proceeded to feel insulted. Wasn’t he successful in his endeavour?”

“I see what you did there, Sokrates,” said Alexios, “So in your eyes, I was the weak one.”

“I said no such thing, Alexios. There are many definitions of strength. Do you think you were the weak one?”

Alexios froze. Few had asked him what he thought, at least in ways that really made him think. He tried to answer the question, but he couldn’t. For most of his life, he was pressured to be strong, so much so that even the thought of admitting to weakness and vulnerability sent his heart racing. And yet, to say that he felt strong right now would be a lie, and he had a feeling that Sokrates would see right through it.

“I’d rather not answer that,” said Alexios.

“As is your right,” Sokrates nodded, “But I do hope you will answer that to yourself.”

The philosopher then turned to Kassandra and talked to her for a while. She, too, got questions that forced her to think. Usually, Alexios would be bored when a conversation wasn’t about him, but now it’s such an amusing breather to see Sokrates use his infamous method on Kassandra instead of him.

After they finished the conversation, the siblings headed back to the inn. As soon as they reached their room, Alexios took off his sandals, flopped down on his bed, and groaned, “Athens is exhausting! Why did I even want to rule this city at all?”

“Did you? I thought the Cult told you that you did, and you believed them,” said Kassandra.

“Why are you so good at making me feel like an imbecile?”

In her head, Kassandra had several sardonic replies to the question, and the mischievous part of her wanted to hurl all of them at him, but she decided against that. Her poor little brother was vexed enough as it was. Instead, she said, “You were indoctrinated with falsehood since infancy, not imbecile. You’re smarter than a lot of people I know. Yes, most people are stupid, but still.”

He sighed, “Before this, I came here sometimes, but I always kept to myself. Being with the Cult made me distrustful and disdainful of all who were not them. I knew Athens’ streets and buildings, and a fair bit about its politics, but I knew nothing of its people. I wish I hadn’t been that way. Perhaps I’d have been smarter and, who knows, even broken away from the Cult’s control much sooner. Perhaps I’d even have had a chance to help you fight against them.”

“Or they’d have seen that you’d become too much of a threat and had you eliminated. They were so cruel and ruthless, I’m glad you survived them at all.”

He sniffed, “I’m sure I’d have survived that too. I’m worse enemy to myself than anyone has been, and I’ve survived me this far, haven’t I?”

Kassandra nodded in approval. Then she said, “I want to go to the tavern. Do you want to come with me?”

“I’m too tired. I think I’ll just rest here,” said he, “Besides, I need to think about that conversation with Sokrates. Yes, it was incredibly embarrassing for me! But, he could be onto something there. Go ahead without me. I promise I’ll still be here when you come back.”

“Are you sure? Will you be alright?”

“Yes. You don’t have to look after me all the time. I’m not a child, Kassandra.”

“Right. I forget you’re an adult sometimes.”

“Just go already!” Alexios threw a pillow at Kassandra. This friendly display of annoyance was devoid of growling, snarling, or fang-baring. Reassured by his apparent fine mood, she smiled, threw the pillow back at him, and left.

Alone at last, Alexios thought about what Sokrates had asked.

_ Was I the weak one?  _ Am _ I? _

_ Aristophanes provoked me, and I lost my temper, even though I should have predicted his move. Of course he hates me, given our histories. I could have ignored him. I should have. _

_ But then he had to call me an errand boy. How dare he! _

_ But I  _ was _ an errand boy, and an ignorant one too. I knew nothing but what the Cult deigned to tell me. If Kassandra hadn’t come into my life, I’d still think I know all there is to know, oblivious to my true ignorance. Even now, I don’t even know who I am without those who had shackled my mind. Who is Alexios? There’s only a vague outline of him. I only know Deimos, and he has been nothing but a tool of Kosmos. A glorious, deadly, magnificent tool, but a tool nonetheless. _

_ Aristophanes forgot to call me an idiot. _

_ Ugh! Really? Minutes into introspection and I’m sinking into the same self-loathing that drove me to the edge of Mount Taygetos, to the edge of sanity? What is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with me? See? I’m weak. I’m weak because I know nothing of who I am, except for the terrible parts that rage and maim and kill and follow falsehood. Why, I assaulted Aristophanes just to keep myself from thinking about all of that! He didn’t have to do much at all to prick at me. _

_ Maybe I’ve been asking the wrong question. Instead of asking ‘What is wrong with me?’, the question whose answer is already branded with hatred in my damn head, I should be asking ‘What is right with me?’. Now, this question I have no answer for, but maybe Sokrates could help me find the answer. _

Alexios hated the Agora, but he needed Sokrates. Perhaps he’d have to endure the noise and the crowd, and go see the philosopher again.

\-----

Next afternoon, Alexios visited the Agora again, hoping to see Sokrates. Kassandra also went with him. There, they ran into Aristophanes.

“Chaire, Kassandra. Chaire, Kassandra’s brother whose name I already forgot,” Aristophanes greeted them before they could think to avoid him.

“It’s Alexios, the errand boy,” said Alexios, “Not  _ your _ errand boy, though. You’re too unremarkable.”

“Nice one. I bet you rehearsed that line all night,” Aristophanes retorted.

“No, I didn’t,” Alexios shrugged, “And you know who else were obviously unrehearsed? Your actors. Surely, your bland play must have bored them to tears, so they didn’t bother rehearsing those awful scripts.”

“Or, they are well-rehearsed, and you’re not sophisticated enough to appreciate their acting or my play.”

Alexios smirked, “So that’s what you tell yourself when someone dislikes your plays. Why am I not surprised? Of course you have to tell yourself you are the special one, and those who don’t agree are unsophisticated fools, because the alternative would be to admit that you’re, well, mediocre, which you know you are...”

Of course, Alexios wasn’t really talking about Aristophanes. He was merely taking his own self-doubt and hurling it at his opponent, hitting where it hurt for anyone with ambition.

Aristophanes did not know that, however, and thought it was all about him. He fumed and forgot himself. He also forgot that Alexios was a literal fighter and he was not. He threw a punch at Alexios, but fighter’s instinct let the latter move quickly and avoid the punch. As a result, Aristophanes fell to the ground.

Alexios laughed. His first thought was to conjure up some more insults, to drive home his victory against this person who hated him, and maybe top it all off with a small kick just because he could. But just as he was taking a deep breath to savour the moment, the new air that he breathed brought him another thought. It told him to restrain himself and not to crush his opponent. The thought dampened his enthusiasm, but its novelty interested him. Such a thought had been entirely foreign to him until now. The Cult had benefited from his destructive urges, so he had never been taught to control them. Also, he had found his power to destroy to be intensely intoxicating, so much so that its uncontrollability, which had sometimes scared him as much as it had scared others, had been but a small price to pay.

And yet, self-restraint offered another kind of power, one that might not be as heady but was even more satisfying. It let him rule over his anger, and gave him the ability to dictate his own actions instead of being a puppet of his emotions.

He liked that.

With that in mind, Alexios did something nobody expected—he extended his hand towards Aristophanes, helped the latter stand up, and said, “You know, I was just messing with you. As much as it pains me to admit, I actually found your play enjoyable. You and your actors are truly talented. I only said what I said earlier to rile you up, because, by the gods, I found you so, so insufferable!”

“I probably won’t forgive you, you know?” said Aristophanes.

“For punching you?” Alexios feigned ignorance.

“No, you moron! For having worked with Kleon, of course,” said Aristophanes, “But, I’ll tolerate you, for my camaraderie with Kassandra, if nothing else.”

“For Kassandra,” Alexios nodded in agreement.

“You’re so sweet!” Kassandra chimed in and put her arms around their shoulders.

Alexios frowned. “I’m not sweet, Kassandra. Do not say I am.”

Kassandra tightened her hug.

Soon, Aristophanes went about his own business, and the siblings continued on theirs. Finally, they saw Sokrates.

“Sokrates! Glad to see you!” said Alexios.

“Are you? Many say the opposite! I suppose my questions aren’t the easiest to answer,” Sokrates chuckled.

“I’ve been thinking over our conversation from yesterday,” said Alexios.

“I can attest that, Sokrates. He even stayed in last evening while I went to the tavern, just to think about the conversation,” said Kassandra.

“And I came to the conclusion that, yes, I was weak, because I didn’t know myself,” said Alexios, “You’re known to always say, ‘Know yourself.’ I want to know myself. I want to not only know what is wrong with me, but also what is right. Could you… help me? I have nothing to offer you, no wisdom, nothing, but I...” Here, he faltered a little. It wasn’t easy baring himself and asking for help, even though the other person was a renowned philosopher.

“Yes, I’d be happy to help. I spend much of my time here in the Agora, talking to people. You can come talk to me.”

“But there are so many people here. Will you be able to talk to me?”

“I’ll try, Alexios,” said Sokrates, “But even when I talk to others, it’s still good to see how they respond to questions that show their own selves to them, and think of how you yourself would respond.”

Alexios nodded, “I’ll have to learn about myself through learning about others, then. That sounds improbable, but I trust your wisdom. You can expect to see me here a lot from now on.”

“I hope I do,” Sokrates smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] ‘First sleep’ and ‘second sleep’ refer to historical sleep, which was biphasic. People slept in two halves during the night, with an hour or so of hazy wakefulness between them.


	3. Alkibiades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re lowkey emetophiliac, you’re gonna love this chapter.
> 
> Suggested listening: K.Flay - “Blood in the Cut”

Alexios had been feeling terrible since he started seeking himself with Sokrates’ help a week ago. As it turned out, he did not like following this odd man around the Agora that he hated. Sokrates often stopped to talk to everyone and anyone, even ones whose mind were clearly unworthy of his intellect, and that bored Alexios to tears. He also found a few of Sokrates’ students insufferable, as they found him. Antisthenes[1] in particular really grated on Alexios, with his barely-concealed ridicule over the latter’s dramatic self-importance. This wasn't the kind of environment that he enjoyed.

And when Sokrates talked to him, Alexios hated how the philosopher’s questions seemed designed to pierce his mind in the way that even Leonidas’ spear wouldn’t be able to, merely by using his own answers to them.

Yet Alexios kept coming back and he didn’t know why. Perhaps he’s desperate to find shards of his true self, one that wasn’t fashioned by the Cult, so much so that he endured it when those shards cut him.

Today was another day Alexios decided to go seek Sokrates’ wisdom in the Agora. Little did he know he’d find something else entirely. Just as Sokrates was about to make another stop, a handsome young man with long blond locks and rich purple robe approached him.

“Sokrates! I haven’t seen you in a week! Don't you miss your favourite student?” greeted the young man. Then his eyes darted to Alexios, “And who is this handsome Narcissus? What a fine specimen! No wonder you didn’t come visit me.”

Sokrates shook his head in amusement before introducing the two to each other. The blond then started circling around Alexios, drinking in the magnificent beauty with his eyes, fingers lightly brushing sensitive parts of the latter’s neck and arms.

“Yours have to be the finest physique that has graced my sight today,” said the flirtatious young man, “Do you ever get lost in your own reflection when you look in the mirror? Because I would. I wouldn’t even be able to get past those mysterious eyes and those strong arms.”

“Yes… I mean, no… I don’t know… I...” Alexios stammered.

The blond let out a laughter that sounded like golden bells. Then he said, “Sokrates, may I borrow him today? I think you owe me this much, since you decline my offer at every turn.”

“You’ll have to ask him, my friend,” said Sokrates.

“Would you like to come to my place, dear Alexios?”

Alexios did not know what to answer at first. On the one hand, this man made him feel so uncomfortable with his aggressive seduction. His luxurious purple robe, exceedingly handsome looks, and excessive confidence announced to the world his superiority. His eyes showed no trace of fear towards him, not even compensatory bravado, which was rare. Who was this person? Alexios knew of his name and reputation before, but really, who _ was _ he?

On the other hand, Alexios would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to him. He was taken by the gorgeous face and lithe frame. But above that, he was attracted to the beautiful man’s adoration towards him. It might have made him tense, but it was also something he’d been craving during the past several months. He was starving for exaltation. Spending time with Sokrates certainly did not give him that. While he was definitely not the village idiot, Alexios was no intellectual, and the education he’d had was mostly Cultist propaganda. Also, many of Sokrates’ students were some of the best minds out there. Alexios went from being the most outstanding champion to just another bright but unremarkable mind. And back in Sparta, he wasn’t so special either. Even the decidedly mortal Stentor challenged him at every opportunity. Deimos was a demigod. Alexios just... was.

Being Narcissus was not half as satisfying as being a son of Ares, but it felt much better than being plainly Alexios. Perhaps it could even dress the wounds left by the shards of his true self. That was why, after some consideration, he decided to accept the stranger’s invitation.

The stranger’s abode was located in a nice part of town, much nicer than the area in which he and Kassandra stayed. He led Alexios to a secluded bedroom, sat him down, took off his armour, and glided his hands along the contour of his body.

Yet, Alexios felt no arousal. He knew what he had to ask.

“I want us to hurt each other. If you decline this, I’ll leave.”

\-----

That evening, Alexios came back to his place with bruises all over his body. Kassandra noticed this, and asked, “Did you get in trouble?”

“If by ‘trouble’ you mean a fight, then no. But if you mean I did something I probably shouldn’t have, then yes,” Alexios answered, “You see, I met someone…”

“Oh, that’s a lot better than I expected!” Kassandra smiled with relief, “What’s their name?”

“Alkibiades.”

Kassandra was not surprised that they met. After all, Alkibiades and Sokrates were friends. She was, however, surprised that her brother would also be attracted to him, let alone do what she thought he did. She had to make sure she assumed correctly, “And you slept with him?”

“Yes, I did. And you’re right. He’s a joy,” said Alexios as Eros replaced his usual pallor with a blush, “Kassandra, I… like him, and I don’t like this. Why do people have this kind of feeling? It’s confusing and it makes me anxious. I feel calmer before battles than I do now. Not to mention, I killed his uncle. I didn’t talk to him about this, but I won’t be surprised if he knew and just slept with me out of spite!”

“Why would you sleep with someone out of spite?”

“Well, that’s the sole reason I slept with that venomous bitch Diona when she offered herself. Please tell me that’s not the case with Allie!”

"_ Allie _ already?" Poor Alexios, Kassandra thought. Of all people, it had to be Alkibiades! “I’ll go talk to him and see how much he knows. As for what you're feeling, it’s just infatuation, little brother. You’ve never felt it before?”

“Never found anyone worthy of my attention, let alone infatuation, so no,” said Alexios. Before this, whenever he slept with someone, it always felt as though he’s in bed with himself alone, and it was comfortable. This time, it also started out that way, but Alkibiades's presence commanded too much attention and jolted Alexios right out of himself. It was violently unpleasant, yet intensely intriguing.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Kassandra, “It’s just a schoolboy feeling you missed out on. Most people go through it before they turn twenty. You’ll live.”

\-----

The next afternoon, Kassandra visited Alkibiades at his house. He, too, was bruised all over. “I need to talk to you, privately,” she told him.

“Talking. Hmm… Is this what I think it is, Kassie?” Alkibiades flirted.

“No, it isn’t. I’m here to talk about my brother Alexios.”

“Very well, let’s get inside, then.” Visibly disappointed, he led her to his living room and offered her some wine. Then he poured himself a large chalice. “Lexie is a joy. It’s been a while since I last met anyone who was into as much pain as he is. Such fun!”

“Please spare me the details of my brother’s sex life. I’m here because I need to know how much you know about him.”

“Not much, really,” said he, “I know that he used to be called Deimos and used to belong to the Cult of Kosmos.”

“I’m not surprised you know that. But can you tell me who gave you that information?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. Let’s just say I have ways of figuring things out about people who fascinate me. Do not worry. Those who know about your brother’s past aren’t his enemies, and it took a lot of persuasion on my part to pry his information from them.”

“Alright. Is that all you know?”

“Let’s see… I also know that he killed Perikles and is probably worried I might hold a grudge over that. If so, you can tell him that it’s definitely not the case,” said he, “At first, I thought I’d be at least a little angry at the person who killed my uncle. But then I thought about how beautiful Lexie was, and was reminded that he was under the Cult’s influence, and that Perikles was already inflicted by the plague and would have died without his input. I figured I’d rather be well-satisfied and happy than angry and deprived of his… enthusiasm, so I forgave him.”

“I’ve never been happier that you’re such a degenerate,” said she, chuckling at the adorable way his eyes sparkled at the thought of his new lover. Despite her jab, she was genuinely relieved. She could go back and tell her brother this.

“By the way, Kassie, you told people you killed Deimos, and neglected to tell me the truth. I’m hurt, little goat.”

“I didn’t know you’d take issue with people keeping truth from you, Alkibiades,” she raised her eyebrows.

“Actually, it’s not a big deal. I know you’re just protecting your brother,” he waved his hand, “I’m just a bit sad that you don’t trust me, that’s all. Not that I should be trusted, but still.”

“Well, in a metaphorical sense, what I told people wasn’t a lie. Deimos is dead. He is Alexios now.”

He laughed, “Do you really believe you killed Deimos? I can assure you, Kassandra, that beast of a man is simply subdued, not dead. You can’t kill Deimos without killing Alexios, in the same way the world can’t have Apollo without Dionysus. You can only get Deimos on your side. Have you done that?”

She sighed, “Deimos was… is hurting, a lot. Does this mean my brother will never have a life that’s remotely pleasurable?”

“No, not at all! Question is, does he want a pleasurable life? Some people, like Antisthenes whom both Lexie and I absolutely cannot stand, would say that pleasure is unnecessary, detrimental even, for a good life. To which I say, that’s goat crap. But if your brother can delude himself into subscribing to a similar thought, then even if he isn’t fine, he’s still not doomed,” said he, “And if all else fails, he can always channel his hurt into amazing… performance! I wouldn’t worry.”

“You and Alexios despise the same person. Charming! This must be true love,” she smirked. Despite her sarcasm, she actually liked what he said, especially the last part. Of course, it was tongue-in-cheek, but he was right that amazing things could be born out of hurt.

Then she remembered something that wiped the smile off her face. “Should we tell him… about us?” She looked at Alkibiades, thinking about all those times they fucked. In an orgy. With an olisbos. In a temple. All the other times...

“Now you want to be honest all of a sudden!” he shook his head. “Why would you ruin it for _ him _? You and me, we don’t care. But how many people do you think are like us?”

“Ruin it for him? You mean for _ you _, right?” She crossed her arms. Alkibiades was her dear friend, but sometimes his moral compass could be downright questionable.

“Look, Kassandra, I can get anyone, except for Sokrates, maybe,” said the gorgeous blond, “But the rest of Athens are mine if I want them. I like Lexie, a lot, but if I had to let him go now, I wouldn’t cry. I can’t say the same for him. I could see obsession in his eyes when we fucked.”

“I hate to say this, but you’re right. We don’t know how well he’ll take it. I sort of wish it wasn’t you he’s obsessed with, but at least now he’s thinking about someone who is not himself. I’ll keep our little thing a secret, then,” said she, “And just so you know, as long as you’re sleeping with Alexios, I’m not sleeping with you. I can’t do that to him.”

He pouted. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I doubt I will. Chaire, Alkibiades.”

\-----

During the next few weeks, Alexios became Alkibiades's frequent guest, spending many days and nights at his place, where there never was a shortage of wine and pleasure. They had no past and no future together, only present moments that let them forget about the world and its time, and those were good enough for them. Of course, given Alexios's temper, they sometimes fought, but the fights always shapeshifted into burning kisses and breathless fucking.

One evening, just before a symposium at Alkibiades's started, they had already drunken amphora after amphora of wine as they waited for guests to arrive.

“There’s something I’d like to ask of you, dear Lexie,” said Alkibiades as they sat comfortably together, his head leaning against his lover’s shoulder, “If there are others who want to join us tonight, could you promise not to be so… rough with them? Not everyone can handle pain.”

“I might as well take a nap,” Alexios growled, “How do people even do it? Why would anyone want sex without pain? I don’t get it.”

“Sometimes people seek excitement, but more often, we seek familiarity. Other people are just used to different kinds of pleasure than you do, that’s all.”

“Does this mean that I seek pain because it’s what I’m used to? That pain is my home? That other people get to experience painless pleasure while I can’t?” Alexios's eyes widened with a surge of sadness.

“Ela, ela. Calm down,” Alkibiades tried to tame Alexios's sudden change of moods, “Your pleasure may always be tinged with pain, but that’s alright. Not all of us are lucky enough to feel at home without pain. I know I'm not. That’s why I self-sabotage and get disapproval from Sokrates on a regular basis.”

“So here we are, being broken together.”

Alkibiades nodded and took Alexios's hand, before they both sat in a rare moment of silence, as if to mourn their broken parts.

\-----

The guests arrived. One of them was Kassandra, showing up in her usual armour. “Finally, you two open your love den to the world!” she greeted, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Please, Kassandra,” said Alexios, “I just saw you the day before yesterday.”

“Yes, in the evening, and you were too exhausted from too much lovemaking to even talk!” she laughed, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go talk to an old client of mine before he gets drunk. You know, just in case he’s got more work for me. I’ll come talk to you later, if you’re not too drunk or drained of energy by then.”

“I hope your sister doesn’t turn this into a work party!” Alkibiades lamented after she walked away.

“And she says I’m a killjoy!” Alexios shook his head. “Let’s find someone who can handle pain to join us, shall we?”

“A man after my own heart!” said Alkibiades, eyes scanning the room until he saw a woman he knew loved roughness. After a bit of talking, the three of them retreated into a bedroom and started removing each other’s clothes.

“Wait,” said the woman, her hand brushing along Alexios's face, “You look familiar. You look like this woman we had with us a while back, like you could be her brother.”

Alkibiades gestured her to stop talking, but she didn’t notice.

“What was her name? Kassandra? Well, I hope you have as much stamina as she did!”

“You slept with my sister? Stop touching me!” Alexios stood up and put on a robe that wasn’t even his. “You’re disgusting, Alkibiades! Why have you not told me? Never mind, I’ll deal with you later. Now I’ve got to find Kassandra. That bitch will be sorry!”

He then left the room to go find Kassandra. She had already finished talking with her client, and was pouring herself some wine, alone. He charged at her, pushing her against the wall, “Why didn’t you tell me?” he yelled.

“About what?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about!”

“No, I don’t!” said Kassandra. She tried to wrestle him to the floor. Normally, it wasn’t terribly easy to fight him, but he was drunk and she was not. She pinned him to the ground. There was a large bucket of cold water within her reach. She took it and splashed the water on his head. “Sober up, damn you!”

“Spartans,” said one of the guests, shaking his head with both disapproval and amusement.

“Well, the water’s gone. I guess we’ll be drinking unwatered wine tonight. Not that I mind,” said another guest.

“This is embarrassing. Let’s go talk about this outside,” said Kassandra, dragging the disaster that was her brother, who was still coughing and choking, out to the courtyard.

“What was it?” she asked him.

“You never told me you and Alkibiades slept! I had to find out from a fucking stranger!”

“I’ve slept with a lot of people!” Kassandra screamed, “Remember Roxana and Odessa from the ship? I’ve slept with them. I also slept with Diona before I knew she was a Cultist. And those are just the ones you know! I take pieces of pleasure whenever I can to survive, and I won’t be sorry for it!”

“You slept with Diona? How many of your lovers have I fucked?” Alexios shouted, “It doesn't matter. She’s dead. I don’t care if you fuck everyone in Greece and beyond. But Allie? You should have told me!”

“You’re not entitled to know about my sex life!”

“I do when I’m sleeping with the same person you do!”

“_ Did! _ I stopped sleeping with him after you started.”

“That’s even worse! Now I’ve robbed my sister of a lover! You made me do this bad thing without me knowing it!”

“I’m sorry I wanted to do a good thing for my brother!”

“No, you’re only doing it to feel better about yourself!” Alexios crossed his arms and leaned against a rock, his face darkened with a frown.

For a long time, they stood without uttering a word or even making a sound. Then the heavy quietness was broken by a sneeze from Alexios. They now remembered that he had been standing there in chilly night air against a cool rock, soaked with cold water, wearing nothing but a wet, flimsy Athenian robe and no shoes. It’s only thanks to his robust build that the coldness didn’t attack him sooner and in worse ways.

“Let’s get inside before you get sick,” said Kassandra, “Go get your stuff and change your clothes. We’re heading back to our place.”

“Don’t order me around!”

“Well, you can stay here after you’ve made a complete fool of yourself,” Kassandra shrugged.

Alexios stomped back inside to get his sword and armour from a locked chest. It hurt when he saw that he had his own chest here in Alkibiades's home. By getting way too close much too soon, he set himself up for this hurt, in the same way he demanded pain during sex.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t angry at Alkibiades. In fact, he was even angrier with him than he was with Kassandra. Alexios decided that he would go back to that bedroom and bash Alkibiades's face, and the blood from that beautiful face would warm him. He walked until he reached the bedroom, each step echoing the beats of his enraged heart. But just before he was about to open the door, he stopped. He wasn't sure what stopped him. Alkibiades did him wrong, and he felt that he had every right to go inside and mete out the punishment. Still, he couldn’t do it. Was it love? No, it wasn’t, and it’s entirely laughable to suggest that it was. No, he knew that Alkibiades adored him, and he couldn’t destroy the only person who still worshipped at his altar. So he left.

\-----

The next morning, Alexios woke up from a fitful sleep with a slight sniffle, and it put him in an even worse mood. Such a small, barely-there discomfort that would go away in a few hours was his least favourite kind. He prefered illnesses and injuries that let him have the drama and comfort of being near death. This, however, was so pedestrian and useless. Besides, if he was to be sick now, he wanted a fever at least, so that his physical state would reflect how miserable he was feeling.

And Kassandra would be sorry.

She got up before he did. “Please do something with that nose of yours,” she said, chucking a small piece of cloth at him.

He pitched the cloth back, sniffing even louder just to get on her nerves. “If you didn’t douse me with cold water last night, I wouldn’t have to.”

“You’re so childish!” said she, “If you didn’t come at me with a head full of rage and a stomach full of wine, I wouldn’t have done that.”

He grumbled unintelligibly as he got up and got himself ready for the day. Maybe he’d go find Sokrates, who might be able to help him sort out these confusions. Just as he was about to put his armour on, the innkeeper knocked on the door and informed them that they had a visitor.

It was Alkibiades.

“Chaire, Alkibiades,” said Kassandra, “What brings you here?”

“Lexie left his bracers at my place. I’ve come to return them,” said Alkibiades, handing the said bracers back to its owner.

“You could have sent someone else,” said Alexios as he snatched them from Alkibiades, “I don’t want to see you.”

“You said you’d deal with me later. Here I am. I hurt you, and for that, I’m sorry.”

“You can’t hurt me!” Alexios sniffed in disdain.

“But you were clearly upset. You left abruptly and even fought with Kassie,” said Alkibiades, “You mustn’t be angry with her, dear Lexie. She wanted to tell you, but I convinced her not too.”

“Alright, I’ll forgive Kassandra, since you can be very convincing. But I’m not forgiving you. How can I ever trust you after this, Alkibiades?”

“You can’t. That’s the deal with me.”

“Why did you do that to me? I’ve had truth kept from me for most of my life, by people who wanted to use me. Why must you be another one?” said Alexios, almost in tears, “It really didn’t matter that you and Kassandra slept. What mattered was that I was kept in the dark, like a fool, about my own sister! I think you can imagine how much hate was excavated by that. Not hate towards you, no, but towards myself for being deceived yet again. And that's why I was angry. You did me wrong, so wrong.”

Kassandra had known Alkibiades for almost a decade, and yet she never saw him at a loss for words quite like this. No one spoke.

Finally, Alexios broke the silence, “Alkibiades… Allie, I’m not ready for whatever it was that we had. Last night, I had this thought, this desire, and it was ugly. I wanted to go into your room and smash your face until it’s beautiful no more. I almost did. The only thing that kept you safe was this part of me that still wanted something from you. What if it dies? I have a long way to go before I’m not a danger to those I’m passionate with. I can still go to your symposia and join in your revelries. I can even join your orgies sometimes. But I can’t rest my head on you, or pour my thoughts out to you, or put my guard down around you again. It is too much."

“I understand,” said Alkibiades, “If you’re ready to do those things again, I’ll still welcome you. And since I am irresistible, I suspect I wouldn’t have to wait too long. I shall keep your favourite wine for you.”

“I should have bashed that smug, pretty face of yours. Don’t push your luck,” Alexios groaned, “Speaking of pushing your luck, you can’t keep doing this, Allie. You can’t keep ruining things with your lies and your half-truths and your doing things just because you could. Because one day you will anger the wrong person, the _ real _ wrong one, and find yourself on Charon's boat way before you want to. I’m saying this as a friend.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Alkibiades shrugged. Then he presented a handkerchief to Alexios. “For that _ gorgeous _ nose of yours. I see you’re not well. Please take care, Lexie. Can I still call you that?”

“Yes, you can, but only because I have a feeling you’d still call me that had I said no,” Alexios took the handkerchief and blew his nose. It was scented with his favourite perfume. "I’m keeping this. Why did you even bring it? Did you expect me to weep for you? You’re not that great a loss."

"To be fair, you’re quite temperamental and you seemed very fond of me, dear Lexie,” said Alkibiades, “I didn't expect you to be under the weather, though, since you're so strong."

"It’s confirmed. Being with you made me ill," Alexios half-smiled.

_ You little whore _, thought Kassandra. She found it adorable that Alexios wouldn’t even dab his nose when she told him to, but blew his nose almost obediently when Alkibiades gave him the handkerchief.

After Alkibiades left, Kassandra said, “That went better than I expected.”

Then she saw that her brother had tears streaming down his cheeks. He waited until his lover left to let them out. Then he grabbed the nearest thing to his hand, which was one of the bracers Alkibiades had brought for him, and threw it across the room in frustration. 

“Kassandra, can you lift this curse of anger off of me, so that I won’t have to save another from me again?” Alexios pleaded.

Kassandra held Alexios and pulled him towards her, feeling his pain beating in her chest.

“Why haven’t you abandoned me, when all I do is rage at you?” he asked, violently wiping tears from his eyes.

“Because I’d be the same as you are if I had lived your life. When I see you, I see me.”

"I see myself in you as well. Does that mean you'll stay no matter what?"

“I can’t make promises for the future that is so uncertain, but right now, I’m not going anywhere.”

\-----

Alexios spent the next several hours in a stupor. Kassandra tried to nudge him out of the room, to no avail. He refused breakfast. He even refused wine. She shifted impatiently in the room. He was right; this room _ was _ claustrophobic, especially when they were cooped up inside when they should have gone out. She polished her armour and mended her clothes, trying not to fall prey to madness. Soon she ran out of things to do. She wanted so badly to go out, but she couldn’t leave him, not right after she told him she wouldn’t abandon him.

Finally, he spoke, “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

“Let’s see. You were born in early spring. It was drizzling, but the sun was exalted in the sky[2]…”

“Mater told me that,” he interrupted, “I don’t know if you are evading my question or just plain stupid. I mean secrets, things that you deliberately keep from me for whatever reasons.”

She did have a secret, a terrible one. She had yet to tell him about Atlantis, about Pythagoras, about things that would shake the foundation of his world, as they had shaken hers. It wouldn’t do him any good to tell him now. “There is a secret, actually,” said she, “But I don’t think you’re ready to hear it. I’ll tell you later.”

“Don’t patronise me! I can take it. Let’s get this over with,” he growled.

She realised she made a mistake in letting him know there was a secret. Alexios overestimated himself. This truth would crush him. However, it would be worse not to tell it to him, since that would show how she had no confidence in his strength of mind, which would crush him even more painfully. “You have to promise that what I’ll tell you will remain a secret. You can only talk about this with mater and me, and no one else,” said she.

“I was in the Cult. If I couldn’t keep secrets, I’d be dead now,” said he, “Of course I promise.”

She took a deep breath, and said, “I’m your half-sister. Nikolaos is not my actual father.[3]” She then proceeded to tell him about her real father whom Alexios did not share, about the First Civilisation, about her task to seal the Atlantis gate that she had yet to finish, and about everything else she could possibly tell him on the whole thing.

After initial disbelief had passed, Alexios listened without interruption until she finished. Then he sat there, trying to let it all in, but the information refused to be digested. He grab the empty chamber pot, and heaving into it the bilious content of his stomach, as if to get rid of all that he had just heard.

Kassandra tried to hold his hair away from his face as he threw up.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarled, but not before her finger brushed against his skin.

“You’re burning up!”

That was true, he admitted. He could feel fever rising. His veins throbbed and his head hurt. He put the pot down and lay on his bed. It was Kassandra’s damnable secret that caused this, he was certain. His body finally gave in and reflected the wounded state of his mind.

“Get your hands away from me,” he hissed as she tried to touch his forehead, “I can still fight you, you know?”

“How? By getting sick on me?”

“I’ve fought through worse sickness than this,” he said before groaning feverishly.

“Maybe, but your opponents weren’t me,” said she, pouring water from the bedside jug into a cup and handing it to him. Begrudgingly, he obliged and drank it. He didn’t want to, but he needed something to wash the bitterness off his throat.

“Fuck you to Hades and back, Kassandra.”

She ignored his bile. “I’ll go find medicine. Don’t die while I’m away.”

“No need. I have some in my bag. You don’t have any? How unprepared!”

“I don’t get sick.”

Of course she didn’t, thought Alexios. She and her godlike superiority! Must have been her higher concentration of First Civilisation blood that prevented her from falling ill. That, or the fact that she wasn’t always sleep-deprived or burnt up with rage as he was. His stomach clenched with envy, and that sent another round of vomit into the chamber pot.

Kassandra looked through her brother’s bag for the medicine. There was nothing unnecessary in it. No useless junk. No sentimental objects. Only items he needed. This bag belonged to a ruthlessly efficient weapon running on empty, and it sent chills down her spine.

As soon as she found the vial of medicine, she turned back to give it to him, only to find that he had already fallen asleep, probably due to the fever. She left the room briefly and came back with a basin of water and a soft piece of cloth.

“I’m going to use this cloth to wipe your face. Is that alright?” she whispered.

He responded with a soft moan. She dragged the damp cloth across his face, wiping beads of sweat off his temples. Caressing her little brother’s face in her hands, she wanted to stop Chronos in his tracks and keep Asklepios from entering the room, to preserve this peace in between storms. She knew that it was selfish to indulge in her brother’s ailment, but she wanted for him to allow some affection. Unless he’s ill or on the verge of breaking down, he never let himself be vulnerable enough to fully receive love from her. Unlike Alkibiades (whom she adored but highly doubted was capable of real love), she had neither the ability nor the desire to pry his heart open with lust. Illness would have to do, for now.

After she finished, she left the cloth on his forehead to cool his fever. Then she kissed the crown of his head, stood up, and went to her bed. She, too, needed rest.

\-----

Hours later, Kassandra was awakened by a bright red glow that pierced her eyelids. She opened her eyes, and saw that the glow came from the sword of Damokles, Alexios's weapon of choice. Hovering above her was the trouble child himself, holding the sword inches from her breasts.

She looked at him. There was hesitation in his eyes. His ragged breath, flushed cheeks, and sweat-drenched brows showed that he was still feverish. She could easily fight him and bring him to his senses, then. She kicked him away from her.

“Have you lost your mind?” she cried, “Talk to me!”

Alexios collapsed to the floor but still held tight to his sword. “Don’t come near me!” he growled, and then coughed.

“You’re the one who tried to kill me! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You are a reminder of what I am not!” he shouted, “If it wasn’t for mater, I wouldn’t have hesitated and you’d be dead now. But then I should kill her too, for having her second child with less godly blood than her first! Can’t you see how unfair that is?”

She could not believe her ears. She stood up, and said, “Unfair? Yes, it is most unfair. I was born out of duty, and you were born out of love! But I’m not here to win the game of who has it worse. Why do you even care who has more First Civilisation blood?”

“Because your blood is wasted on you. Unlike you, I’m not blind to its potential… its power!”

“Ah, yes, Power.” Her mouth stretched into an eerie grin. “You seek it, crave it, breathe and live it. And look where it led you. Look where it led those who taught you it’s the only thing that mattered. See what it’s done to the Greek world and to our family, you little shit!”

She took her spear and dragged its blade across her palm, letting her blood seep from the cut.

“If you want my blood, come take it,” she said with crusts of ice upon her every word, “But before you do, ask yourself this: is it what you want, or is it what the world says you should want?”

Kassandra’s madness shocked Alexios out of his. It was as if she took his rage and wore it as her own, and it was frightening. And yet, her brutal words directed to him in her sublime wrath opened his eyes and became his own personal divine oracle. Perhaps she deserved every drop of godly blood she had.

“Come sit with me.” He patted the empty space next to him.

Still apprehensive, and rightfully so, she moved slowly to his side and sat down, one hand still clutching her spear. Alexios ripped a strip of cloth from the hem of his tunic, and took her bloodied hand. That’s when he saw that there was already a scar under the new cut. Together they formed a cross mark.

“How did you get this scar?” he asked while wrapping her new cut with the strip of cloth.

“It was the night we met for the first time after we were separated,” she answered, “I infiltrated the Cultist meeting, as you know. You demanded blood from the Cultists, so I was told to cut my palm and give you blood.”

“Ah, sorry for that! I don’t even remember asking for blood that night. I suppose I committed too much casual cruelty back then to remember all that I did.”

“I’ve always liked this scar,” she shrugged, “If only because it reminded me of you all those years. A keepsake, if you will, of my beloved brother.”

“So you’ve loved me all those years.”

She nodded. “Ever since you were a baby, and I never stop.”

Back when he was with the Cult, many said they loved him. Chrysis did. Diona did. Other Worshippers of the Bloodline did. Their love was always laced with the cloying smell of adulation to mask their malicious intentions. He took it all the same, as one would take half-rotten fruits in hunger. Then, having taken the unsavory love, he convinced himself that its peculiar taste was only available to extraordinary creatures such as himself, another proof of his superiority.

Kassandra’s love felt different, however; it was fresher, purer, and more filling. It was too good for him to take, and he felt that there was no way he could return it in the same capacity, foul and putrid as his heart was. Why did she love him at all? Did she not know that he was a monster undeserving of her love? Perhaps she knew, yet chose to love him still. Why? If, like the Cult, she wanted something from him, what could he possibly offer the mighty Eagle Bearer? He was just her sick half-brother who’d pose less trouble dead. People talked of how love defied reason, but this was beyond absurd!

Questions ran in circles around his head, making him dizzy, light-headed, and queasy. He grabbed the trusty chamber pot and dry heaved into it. There was nothing left in his stomach for him to hurl up now, yet his confusion was still very much visible.

“Alexios, are you alright?” Kassandra rubbed his back gently, yet her touch pricked his skin.

He spat into the pot and shook off her hands. “You have to be either exquisitely evil or superbly stupid to love me,” said he, “Which are you?”

“Which one do you think I am?”

“I think you’re stupid,” said he, “There’s nothing to gain and everything to lose in loving me. I’m of no use to you.”

To his surprise, she laughed, “You’re the stupid one, little brother. Do you even know how love works? You don’t love people because you can use them.”

“Why do you love people, then?” he frowned.

“Because you see something beautiful in them, and it moves you.”

“What do you see in me that’s so beautiful you can’t help but love me? Surely, it can’t be my divinity, since you’re even godlier than I am. Your strength matches… no, surpasses mine, so it can’t be my strength, either. What is it, then?”

“When you were a baby, it was how you smiled and held out your arms when you saw me,” said Kassandra, “Now it’s a lot of things. I love how independent you are, for one. Even when you were with the Cult, you tried to do your own things and be your own person, even though your mind was clouded by their poison and you hardly knew who you were. You let me live the first night we met. Then you came to talk to me, an enemy of Kosmos, twice, and listened to what I had to say. Even with their strings around your limbs, you were no puppet. You were never truly one of them. Where they wore their grotesque masks and cloaked themselves in black, you shone in the golden armour that was yours alone. You could become a champion of freedom and I will not doubt you. That’s just one of the many things that render you beautiful to me.”

Upon hearing Kassandra’s words, Alexios's heartbeats became palpable. That someone saw virtue in him, and loved him for it instead of trying to quell it—that someone loved him for who he was rather than what he was—was a rare thing for him.

And at that moment, he didn’t want to be great—he wanted to be good.

Silence followed, but this silence was not heavy; it was light, airy, and filled with love. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he let her.

“Thanks for telling me the truth about Atlantis, even though I didn’t take it well at all. And for that, I’m sorry,” he said.

She smiled and pulled herself closer to him.

“It’s only fair that I offer you the same honesty,” he continued, “There’s so much you still don’t know about me. I don’t know where to start, so if there’s anything you want to know, you can ask me.”

“Thanks. I’m sure I will. But for now, let’s take a break from secrets and confessions,” she said, putting her hand on his forehead to gauge his temperature, “Your fever is almost gone now, and you haven’t eaten since the party. You must be hungry. Let’s go put some sustenance in you, shall we?”

“Of course, as long as the sustenance includes wine.”

“You sure spent too much time around Alkibiades,” she laughed, “I don’t think you should be having wine now. Wait until you’re sure you’re not going to throw up, maybe?”

“Ugh! Will you ever stop patronising me?” he pouted, “But you’re right. I’m still a little nauseous. Besides, during all those times with Allie, I’ve stored enough wine in my body to last three months at least. I could do without wine for today.”

\-----

Peacefully, they had breakfast together—bread and wine for Kassandra and soup for Alexios. She let him have a tiny sip of her wine, however, since he gazed so longingly at her cup. (She was slightly concerned that Dionysus could have had her brother in locked his clutch, but that’s a worry for another time.)

“How are you feeling now, Alexios?” Kassandra asked.

“Honestly? Terrible. The heart I didn’t know I had was shattered, and so was the pride I didn’t know I never truly had. But at least I’m not throwing up now, so it’s good, I suppose,” said Alexios as he put down his sister’s wine, “By the way, did I do right with Alkibiades? I hope I did, because, truth be told, not smashing his face into pulp was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a while!”

“Yes, you did right. Not only for him, but for yourself as well,” she answered, “And you need the kind of love Alkibiades can’t give. If you’re so inclined, I can introduce you to lots of wonderful men and women. There’s this handsome healer in Phokis, and he is lovely and gentle and kind…”

The little brother couldn’t help but laughed, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, sister. I’d rather not burden anyone new with my unfinished self in the near future. Besides, is he even into pain?”

“You can’t really know, with this kind of things,” she winked. She was glad to finally hear him laugh. “But yes, it’s wise to take a deep breath and step away from passion when you need to. If you decide to indulge in the pleasure of love again, Aphrodite will still be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I hope you don’t mind me name-dropping Antisthenes. I’d have loved to include the OG troll Diogenes, whom everyone knows and loves, but he wasn’t even born yet, so I put the proto-Cynic (who was said to be Diogenes’s teacher) there to troll Alexios instead.
> 
> [2] Alexios is an Aries. You can’t change my mind.
> 
> [3] Alexios’s parentage is pretty damn vague. It’s not clear in the English version of the game. In the French version, however, it’s spelled out that Kassandra and Alexios are half-siblings. So I go with that, because why would I pass on an opportunity for more angst?


	4. Sokrates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are.” - Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
> 
> This is the most violent chapter. Nothing worse than in the canon, though.
> 
> Suggested listening: Nine Inch Nails - “The Becoming”  
Beowulf - “Is It Too Late for Me”

Since he left Alkibiades's embrace, Alexios had been alternating between growls, sobs, and fever. At first, Kassandra thought it was just a heartbreak, a normal ailment of the Aphrodisian kind. She soon discovered, however, that the heartbreak merely tipped his balance and sent him on a downward spiral towards something worse. He sank more and more into himself, into the barren wasteland that was his afflicted mind. He talked in his sleep of sadness and fear and shame and hate. He talked of the same things during his waking hours.

And when she held him, even though he was right there, trembling in tears within her arms, she felt she couldn’t reach him, as if he wasn’t really there.

"You too are regarded as a god," he once said to her, teary-eyed, "How is it you don't believe that with the whole of your soul, and detest yourself when you're less than a god… when you're human, like I do?"

She had no answer to that question.

One night, she woke up from a dream where he took her spear and stabbed himself in the neck with it. The dream was so realistic that the odour of blood still lingered in her nostrils. Except it wasn’t from the dream. Upon opening her eyes, she saw his shadowy figure holding her spear in his hands, and there was enough moonlight in the room to show how bloodied it was.

She got up and carefully approached him. As she reached him, he showed her one of his hands. There were two cuts on it, and they looked just like the scars on her hand.

“Why did you do this?” she asked in a whisper.

“I made you cut your hand, twice,” he said, “It’s only fair that I do it too.”

“This won’t heal my scars, though. You know that, right?” said she, “It only hurts you.”

Kassandra found a piece of clean cloth to wipe blood from his hand. As she wiped it, she noticed that he cut his hand much deeper than she did both times. He was going to need stitches.

The cuts were done in hatred.

\-----

One afternoon, Alexios took a stroll around the Cemetery of Athens, to find peace and quiet among the dead. The cuts on his hand started to itch, and he fought the urge to scratch them. Kassandra wasn’t here with him. As much as he'd like her to be here, and as much as she’d like to be here with him, she had to go and do her job and earn the drachmae. She had to make a living.

It’s funny, he thought, looking at all the tombstones before him. If only they weren’t living, she wouldn’t have to toil in labour to make a living like she’s doing now. Among the philosophers he’d been talking to, many of them said it’s lowly to labour, since it sapped away the time and energy for which to contemplate and live the good life. But Kassandra never really had a choice. It’s either work or perish. (Her career as a fighter might have been more glamorous than those of common labourers. But was it any different whether she wielded a sword or a plow, when she had to do so for mere drachmae rather than being free to do so for an actual purpose?) And now that he’s also here and still unable to earn his own living, she had to work even harder.

Perhaps he should have perished, so that she wouldn’t have to work so hard and would probably have a better chance towards the good life. His chance had already been ruined anyway, with a mind that couldn’t be cured of darkness.

He shook his head. He was simply finding an excuse to die. All of his thoughts seemed to lead towards death recently, towards the warmth and love and limitless acceptance of death.

“Chaire, Alexios. I haven’t seen you in a while,” someone greeted him before he could sink further into his thoughts. He turned around, and saw Sokrates there, smiling warmly at him as always.

“I haven’t been well,” said Alexios, “It’s unusual to see another living soul here, Sokrates.”

“Would you like me to leave you in peace?”

“No. I was just remarking upon the strangeness of seeing another here, a place dedicated to the dead, since most people seem to find death unpleasant,” Alexios answered, “You don’t, apparently. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here in such a relaxed state.”

“That is correct. You are perceptive, Alexios,” said Sokrates, “But just because you are correct this time does not mean one’s perception can always be trusted, however.”

“What choice do I have?” Alexios frowned, “I only have my perception to use, and nothing else, if I’m to know others at all. I’m different, Sokrates. I do not feel what others feel. Kassandra says that sometimes she feels my pain beating in her chest. I don’t get that. I understand people well enough to use them, even to break them, but I don’t feel their pain or joy. I used to think it’s because I was a god and there's no need to concern myself with ordinary people's gross sentiments. But now I know I’m just broken.”

"I appreciate your honesty, my friend. Not many would admit to such a handicap, for fear that others might judge them."

Alexios shrugged. "I'm not always so honest. But with you, I see no point in lying and secrecy. You're going to see right through my deception and pry my secrets from me with your questions anyway."

Sokrates nodded. "Let us walk, shall we? Then we can talk during the stroll."

Alexios agreed, and they walked through the rows of tombstones.

"You said you hadn't been well," said Sokrates, "What has been ailing you?"

"I could say I've had a little fever, probably from something pathetic like a cold. Or I could say Alkibiades broke my heart. Or I could say Kassandra told me something about our family and it didn't sit well with me. And those would be true. But I do know that it's much, much more than any of that. Isn't being alive a malady, Sokrates?"

"It can be."

"Isn't this where you're supposed to say that it's not and that life is worth living?"

"In the polite society, yes. But I thought you would appreciate it that I bypassed such drivel," said Sokrates, "Besides, had I said it, you would remember it as something I said, and not a conclusion you yourself came to, thus rendering it meaningless to you. I might as well speak gibberish."

"Well, I wanted you to. Death calls to me like sirens," Alexios sighed.

"And yet you are alive. What is it do you think keeps you here?"

Alexios went silent to search his mind for answer. Then he said, “Cowardice. I’m not afraid of death, no. I believe I’ll have no trouble braving the afterlife. What I’m afraid of is actually of this realm. I’ve heard so much of this thing called happiness, but I’ve yet to experience it. From what I’ve heard, it does exist, and it exists here. I’m afraid that if I die, I will never have a chance to experience it at all, for I am sure to end up in Tartarus for all the atrocious deeds I’ve done. Not that I won’t feel at home there, but still. So I stay and wait. That’s pitiful, isn’t it?”

“Ah,” Sokrates exclaimed, “What you call cowardice, others call hope. You hope to find happiness in this world, and that’s why you stay.”

Alexios cringed, “That is actually worse! Hope is for the foolish and the deluded! When we hope for something, we are not even sure that we will get it, and yet we’re willing to stake what we have in such uncertainty. I should have known! Intelligence is never my strength. If it was, I wouldn’t have been used for almost all my life by people I should have suspected.”

"You seem to pull every topic of our conversation towards self-loathing today," said Sokrates, "One could counter all of that. After all, you do have great qualities in you. You could easily prop yourself up and let yourself be proud once more."

"If it's so easy, then please do it for me. I would really love it. I _ need _ it," Alexios implored.

"I shall not. If you want to feel good, I suppose you can go and establish another cult to worship you. But you don't. Instead, you seek me, a gadfly that bites at people's flaws in their logic and their ways of being so that they can become better. That says something about what you truly need deep down, does it not?"

Alexios could feel his sadness turning into annoyance, which was mere steps from anger. "You know what I need? I need this feeling to stop! When we first met, I told you I wanted to know what was right with me. Now I'm here, seeing only all the things that are terrible and wrong with me, and how only death can embrace the whole of me!"

Most people would have been taken aback, but Sokrates wasn’t most people. “My dear friend,” said he, “I believe there are many things that are right with you, and you will find out about them. But right now, tell me, what do you think death will provide you that life cannot?”

“Death will not demand anything from me. She will merely punish me, like a mother who punishes her misbehaved child. Then she’ll lull me to sleep, in the way I’ve lulled myself to sleep with her voice ever since I knew what she was. Life never does that for me.”

“_It_, Alexios. I know that we Greeks have a tendency to personify complex, intangible things, but death is not your mother. So you want not to be demanded of anything and to rest in motherly warmth.”

“I sounded like a pervert, didn’t I? But death won’t deem me perverted. I won’t be a murderer or a god. I’ll just be. Or, even better, cease to be. Either way, I’ll stop being Alexios or Deimos. I’ll drink from Lethe and forget it all.”

Sokrates merely nodded. He was wise enough, perhaps, to know that reason could not penetrate Alexios’s mind right now. That, or he knew that the damaged mind was beyond saving. Alexios suspected it was the latter. They kept walking.

Then Sokrates stopped in front of a tombstone.

“Why are we stopping? Whose grave is this?” Alexios asked.

“Oh, I just stop out of habit,” Sokrates answered, “Trust me, knowing who this was would not do you any good. Just stand here and be silent with me.”

“But I want to know. Tell me who lies here.”

Sokrates sighed. “Here lies someone I buried, someone who was like a daughter to your sister. Kassandra's relationships with people are mostly about using them or being used by them, as you're well aware, but it wasn't so with little Phoibe here."

"How and when did this Phoibe die?"

"Tragically, the same day Perikles died.”

“The plague?”

Sokrates shook his head. “Murdered.”

“I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t kill her. I killed no child that day.”

“I believe you.”

“But I killed others. You saw me kill Perikles, and I was horrid.”

“I did, yes, but that doesn’t mean I think you killed her.”

Alexios sighed, “I could have. In fact, I would have if I was the one who saw her first.”

“Oh…,” Sokrates paused, “Tell me, Alexios, how did you feel when you killed? What went through your mind?”

It was one thing to self-reproach, but to have someone else trying to prod at one’s wrongs was a different matter entirely. “You used to be a hoplite. You know how it feels to kill,” Alexios said, defensively.

Sokrates kept going, “What I can know is how I felt when I killed, if even that. I cannot and do not know how you felt when you killed.”

“You’re repulsed by what I’ve done.”

“That is not the case, I assure you. I’m merely trying to understand you better,” said Sokrates, ”But if I was, is it wrong to be appalled by terrible acts?”

“What if all that I’m capable of are terrible acts?” Alexios growled, “It doesn’t matter. You can be horrified by me all you want. You’re not as great as people say you are, Sokrates. Why, you can’t even make Alkibiades good!”

“Alexios…”

Before Sokrates could continue, Alexios walked away.

Alexios returned to his room at the inn. The curtains were drawn closed to keep sunlight away. He preferred it this way. Apollo's golden chariot reminded Alexios too much of the old him, the him that was blinded by his own golden brilliance towards darkness within.

Apollo be damned, he thought. Who needed that obnoxious god when Dionysus, a better god, was there to lend support? He took an amphora from under his bed, and drank up all of its content before throwing and smashing the empty container against the wall.

Then he wept. There were no tangible reasons for the tears, no words he could associate with them, but Dionysus demanded no words and no reasons.

When Kassandra returned, she found her brother kneeling at the chamber pot, as if in worship. In the pot, and also on his face, were vomit and snot and tears.

"This is no way to drink, poor dear," she said while wiping his face. He was too sick and dispirited to object.

\-----

That night, Kassandra woke up from her first sleep, and found Alexios gone. It was entirely possible that he was simply taking a walk around the premises. She put on her sandals and strapped her spear onto her back, just to be safe. She hoped he wouldn’t mind her joining him. She had gotten used to having him around to share the dreamy wakefulness between the two sleeps of the night.

Ikaros joined her as soon as she stepped outside the building. With her eagle companion perching on her, she walked around, looking for her brother. He was nowhere to be found, and she started to worry.

“Be my eyes, Ikaros,” she commanded, “Find Alexios for me.”

It took a while before they found Alexios's horse at the edge of the Cemetery of Athens. He himself was kneeling in front of Phoibe’s grave to place flowers on it. Kassandra approached him.

Feeling his sister’s presence, he stood up. “Sokrates told me about Phoibe,” he said, “How old would she be now if she didn’t die? Old enough to fall in love, I suppose? I'm so sorry. I didn’t kill her, but I didn’t stop her death from happening, either. One word from me and the Cult guards would have spared the child, but I let them do it. I didn’t know how important she was to you.

"Then again, it’s probably best that I didn’t know. If I had known, I would have kept her alive as leverage to make you do things you didn't want to do…"

"At least she'd still be alive…"

"No, that wouldn't have been it. I would have killed her with my own hands, right in front of you, just to see my own pain reflected in your eyes. Oh, how it used to soothe me to see in you the pain and helplessness I didn’t have the courage to let myself feel!”

She could feel the air around her growing colder and wrapping its icy fingers around her throat. “So by hurting others, you removed the hurt from yourself and put it on those you hurt instead. Do I understand correctly?” she gasped for air.

“Yes, and the more similar they were to me, the more effective that rotten routine became. That’s why I targeted you.”

“So that’s why you killed Brasidas, because he was my friend.”

“Yes, that was precisely why,” he sighed, “It was never just the War. I wanted to see you suffer, so that I didn’t have to. I am truly, deeply sorry, but I don’t know how I could atone for that, or for anything for that matter.”

Kassandra shook her head and smiled wryly. She understood him too well to be angry, for she too had a cruel streak of her own. When she had to kill Kleon, she had a scene playing in her head, a terrible wish, where she pushed his head down into the water and the sand with her foot. She wanted to hear him struggling for air with grains of sand and saltwater in his lung, and to feel his skull cracking beneath her sandal. It would have been _ so much fun _. But, she remembered how Sokrates wanted her to consider her enemy’s humanness and, against her desire, she killed Kleon mercifully.[1] Alexios, on the other hand, never had a Sokrates until recently, and he used to deem her an enemy. What he just confessed was the only thing he knew how to do at that time.

She sighed. “As Athenian as his manners were, Brasidas was still a Spartan. He died a Spartan death at the hands of a formidable champion. Even though your motivation for killing him was less than heroic, I think he must have preferred that to a natural death,” said she, “At least, that’s what I’d like to believe. Still, you were genuinely disturbed and terrible back then. I’m glad you’re no longer that way now.”

“How do you know I’m no longer disturbed and terrible?” he said, “I’d like to believe I’m not, but most of the times I’m not so sure.”

“How so?”

“Coming here—Athens, and also _ here _—makes me realise the extent of the horror I caused, and also the stupidity of my recklessness,” said he, his mouth twitched with disgust at his past actions, “Isn’t stupidity the worst crime? Take Perikles, for instance. I murdered him because the Cult told me he deserved that fate. Did I question that notion, as someone who claimed to be free should have? No, I didn’t. I was too busy moving to even think. Even now, people in Sokrates’ circle still talk about him, not knowing that it was me, not the plague, that claimed his life. Maybe he wasn’t as great as they made him out to be, but was he as bad as the Cult had led me to believe? I doubt it. It fills me with such shame to think that, with idiocy, I killed him…

“...And yet, I still have this blind arrogance in me. Some of my fondest memories are still of people cowering in my presence, of people hurting and frightened because of me. Kassandra, I am not a good person.”

They both went quiet, and the world with them. 

Finally, Alexios broke the silence, “Kassandra, I have to turn myself in, for everything.”

Bewildered, Kassandra said, “I can’t let you do that. They’ll execute you!”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“But you’re also a victim. The Cult wormed its way into your mind, and compelled you to do what you did and be who you were. You can’t fault yourself for that!”

“Oh, so I was just a pitiful victim with feeble mind! Do you realise how insulting that sounds?” he snarled.

She winced, not foreseeing that her well-meaning remark would be met with such haughty indignation. “Alexios, just when I thought I knew how megalomaniac you were, you exceeded my expectation!” she said, “You prefer to suffer fully the guilt that was only half yours, rather than accept that, maybe, just maybe, you’re not as impervious to outside influence as you’d like to think you are.”

“Yes, I’m conceited and hubristic. I already know that about myself. But don’t you think I ought to take responsibility for my actions? Or do you think I’m too weak for that?”

“That’s not responsibility. That’s self-flagellation and, dare I say, self-indulgence! If you turn yourself in, it will spell death for you, and we both know how much you want to die. It will be a reward, not a punishment,” she said, “No, you have to live, and you have to be better than you were, if you’re to take responsibility for your actions at all.”

She half expected him to react with anger, mentally bracing for impact. But he didn’t. Instead, he sighed, “You don’t know the evil inside of me, sister. To have me killed is the most responsible course of action. Deimos is still very much alive within me, always engaging in a terrifying sword dance with Alexios. And you know what the true horror is? As twisted and cruel as Deimos is, Alexios is still enamoured with him, admiring his grandeur as they fight. Compared to him, Alexios is _ nothing _. Soon, Deimos will win again, and I hope to the gods someone kills me before that day comes.”

She stared intently into his eyes, locking him in place with her intense gaze. “Alexios. Deimos. Yes, I’m talking to both of you. I won’t let you die. Not even you, Deimos.” Then she put her arm around him and pulled him close, holding him tight as if never to let go. “You two can work together instead of fighting. And Deimos, if you have to be a god, be a benevolent god. I know you’re dark and inhuman, but you were misguided, not evil. You can be better. You were fighting for something. You had a purpose beyond your pain, and that's more than I could ever claim to have had. Let that purpose be Love this time.”

His breath quickened at the uncomfortable warmth felt through his thin robe. “I cannot be what you want me to be. The weeds burrow too deep[2],” he said before pushing her away and ran.

Kassandra tried to reach him, but Alexios hopped on his horse and rode away before she could. As strong as they were, Kassandra’s legs couldn’t catch up with him, for they still had human limitation to them.

No wonder Deimos didn’t want to be human.

\-----

Riding away, Alexios decided that he no longer wanted Kassandra or her friends in his life. In fact, he didn’t want anything of the life he had now! Human love was demanding and human virtues even more so. He wanted to be left alone, perhaps to die, or to be as terrible as he pleased. Either would have been better than the suffocating embrace from which he had just escaped! If he ever got lonely, his sword would be his family, as it had always been. He could take comfort in its cruelty and coldness that mirrored his own.

After he felt he had ridden far enough from the city, he stopped at a cave. He didn’t know the cave, but he needed somewhere to sit and think, for he didn’t know where else to go and his brain was throbbing in his skull. He tied his horse to a tree, and entered the cave. He looked around, and saw that it had been taken over by a small bandit camp, with a treasure chest, an empty weapon rack, and an extinguished campfire. Of course there was a camp. Unlike his mind, the cave was pleasant and quiet and cool. He sat down on the cave floor, and hoped that no one would come and disturb the peace. He would only be here until the headache was gone and he could figure out what to do.

But of course, given his luck, or the lack thereof, someone had to come. He heard footsteps and chatters, and knew that there were two men. A quick thought crossed his mind that he should let them kill him, but that thought soon disappeared. Mighty Deimos should not fall because of some common bandits. Despite his suicidal tendencies, he was much too proud for such death. He rolled his eyes, stood up, unsheathed his sword, but did not move beyond that.

The two bandits reached where Alexios was. One of them carried a sword, and another a bow and arrows. As soon as the bandits saw the stranger in their territory, they attacked. The swordsman charged at him, and the archer took the bow off his back and prepared a shot. Alexios’s swift blade took out the swordsman in one hit. This was too easy.

Suddenly, he felt an overpowering boredom washing over him. It was the kind of boredom that called for blood. The pacifism that had been prescribed to him had not been successful in quelling it. He had never known how to _ be _ without shedding blood and causing pain, and he still didn’t.

The archer, upon seeing his comrade’s quick death, dropped the bow and fell to his knees. “Please don’t kill me,” trembling, he pleaded with the terrifying god in front of him, “Please, have mercy.”

_ “Please, have mercy,” cried young Deimos, imploring with tearful eyes for Chrysis to stop beating him. _

_ “But why? Your enemies will have no mercy. Would you like me to weaken you, dear child?” said Chrysis with a calm voice that contrasted so starkly with the throbbing pain on Deimos’s bloodied back. _

_ “No, mater.” _

Alexios (or was it Deimos now?) put his sword back in its sheath. Reason whispered that he should have let the other man go, that there was no further threat, but he took no notice.

“Mercy?” he cocked his eyebrow and said in ice-cold voice, “Only the weak ask for mercy and deny pain.” He caressed the archer’s face, which looked so young. How old was he? Seventeen? Twenty? A bit older than Alexios was at his first battle, but not by much.

_ Pleased with Deimos’s answer, Chrysis kissed the child’s forehead and continued to beat him with a cane that had been freshly soaked in brine. Deimos bit his lips and endured the pain. _

Alexios bent down and kissed the younger man’s forehead. Then he grabbed him with one fist, and beat him with another. The familiar warmth of blood felt so soothing on his bare fist.

The young man begged, "Please let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone. I won't give you any trouble. Please!"

_ “Please stop this!,” Deimos screeched. It had been hours of him being beaten and thanking Chrysis for beating him, and he started to feel faint and his body started to feel cold. “I promise I’ll be good. I will not lose my temper. I will not fight those boys even if they provoke me again. I won’t throw a single punch!” _

_ “Don’t you understand, Deimos?” said the false mother, “I am not punishing you for fighting. I am punishing you for losing.” _

"Do you really think I keep you here because I'm afraid you'll give me trouble?" Alexios grinned, "No, I'm doing this because I happen to be bored right now, and this is fun."

There was despair in the younger man's battered face.

_ Despair clouded Deimos's tiny face. The fight he had just lost was seven against one, and his opponents were at least half a decade older than he was. How could he have won? Shouldn't she have been proud that he only lost by an inch? Why was he never good enough for her? Still, he found himself saying, “I’m sorry.” _

_ She thrashed him again, even though blood was already dripping everywhere around the child. _

Alexios continued to punch the young man, even though blood was already splattered everywhere around them.

Fuck restraint.

“Stop, please,” the victim gathered what little strength he had left and cried out.

_ Against his wish, Deimos could feel his trembling lips and parched throat moving to form the words, “Stop, please.” _

_ Chrysis heard this, and sneered, “I thought you were Deimos. I thought you were a demigod, with the blood of Olympians coursing through your veins. I was wrong. You are just Alexios. You are weak and worthless. Why, you are just as mortal as anybody else!” _

_ She walked away. He begged her to stay. Without stopping, she said, “I’ve already wasted enough time with you.” _

_ Deimos started weeping as soon as she was gone. At that moment, he wanted the cruel mother to come back and beat him, to cleanse him of mortality and humanness, to elevate him to godliness with purifying pain. Instead, he was left alone with that dirty weakling Alexios and a degrading pain. It was his own fault, wasn't it, for letting weakness get the better of him? He would now correct that. _

_ He picked up the cane that she had left and beat himself with it. He would prove to her that she was wrong, that he really was god. _

“Oh, but you don’t want me to stop,” Alexios tutted. His fist then continued to smash the young man’s face.

_ Pain felt better when it was self-inflicted. Hate felt fulfilling when it was directed against one’s own weak parts. _

_ Alexios had to be punished. _

Weakness had to be eliminated, especially Alexios’s own weakness that was reflected upon the other man’s face. Sometimes it wasn’t enough to just punish oneself, was it? It was never enough. The world was merely an extension of a god like him, and he would rid it of anything he didn’t like.

Alexios felt the young man’s skull cracking against his fist, but what he no longer felt were pulse or breath. Too bad, he thought. He himself wouldn’t have died. Either the young man was exceptionally weak, or Alexios was exceptionally strong. (He was quite sure it was the latter.) He threw the young man’s body away, as though it were a ragdoll with which he no longer wanted to play. He was still bored, but much less so. The headache was gone. He felt powerful and free and real. This was _ him _. He had been born to torture and kill, not to watch plays or debate philosophy or make love!

The gods were cruel, and so was he.

He still didn’t know where else he was supposed to go. He looted everything he could carry from the treasure chest, just in case. Then he exited the cave. It was morning now, but he no longer hated the sun. He took his horse (which was surprisingly still there) to a nearby stream and let it drink. He washed blood off his body and his clothes, whistling with joy. After the joyous bath, he got off the stream. There was no change of clothes, so he kept the wet clothes on. The sun would dry them, he thought as he hopped on the horse.

But damp clothes were so uncomfortable, and the discomfort dampened his mood and sent his thoughts into a race. What he had just done would be regarded by most as inhumanly cruel. It might have been his right as a god to do it, but was it really? He wasn’t even really a god, was he? Oh, but it felt so good, what he had done. How could something so bad feel so good? What even is good? Damn Sokrates got in his head again! He hated this confusion.

Then there was this pang of envy, one that had always happened whenever he killed. He knew that life was supposed to be sacred because he’d heard the sentiment so many times, but it didn’t feel so to him. When he killed someone, their suffering ended, but his had to go on. They should have thanked him! They should have all thanked him! And really, if he hadn’t been so proud, he’d be dead himself.

He rode without a direction, and soon found himself at the edge of the city. There was a tavern, and people were enjoying themselves with the drink of Dionysus, the only god that made sense. Some of these people had probably been there since last night, for they knew that time meant nothing within intoxication’s embrace. Alexios got down from his horse, and entered the tavern.

\-----

Kassandra had been looking for Alexios since last night, and now it was morning. Not even Ikaros could find him. But they kept trying. Finally, the eagle led her to something. A cave.

The first thing that greeted her inside the cave was the stench of blood. Her heartbeats quickened. She took her spear out and walked carefully. Soon she found the source of that terrible smell. It was two gruesome corpses. Someone had just killed them, and it wasn't a good death. Was one of the bodies Alexios? She clutched her spear even tighter and looked more closely. To her relief, those weren’t him.

"Why did you lead me here, Ikaros?"

She exited the cave and resumed her search. 

Hours later, anxious and with her heart sunk low, she was wandering aimlessly at this point. She went back into the city, hoping she would run into Alexios somewhere. Instead, she found Sokrates and Alkibiades.

“Are you alright, Kassie?” said Alkibiades, “Hope you don’t mind me saying this, little goat, but you look demented! Still gorgeous, of course, but demented.”

“Well, you do look distressed, Kassandra. Is there anything we could help you with?” said Sokrates.

Kassandra’s lips trembled as she spoke, “A… Alexios… he… gone.”

“We’ll help you find him,” Sokrates said, “You and Alkibiades take his horse, and I’ll take mine. We’ll look around. Where do you think your brother could be?”

“Outside of town, I think. I last saw him in the Cemetery.”

Her friends nodded. Then they rode in that direction.

The day passed, the sun had set, and they still couldn’t find Alexios. “It’s dark and I’m hungry. Let’s find the nearest place that serves food,” said Alkibiades.

“But I need to find my brother!” Kassandra frowned.

“And we will! But honestly, it’s not just me who need rest. You look absolutely frazzled. When was the last time you eat? Besides, it’s too dark to find someone now.”

He was right, Kassandra had to admit. The three rode back to the city, and found a tavern. As they entered, they heard a familiar voice, albeit with a bit of a drunken slur and much more cheer than usual.

"Another round of drinks for everyone!"

Kassandra had imagined that, if they found Alexios, he would probably be brooding somewhere, with rain clouds and gloom above his brows. She didn't expect… whatever this was. He was eerily cheery, raising his cup to everyone in the tavern. There was a wide grin on his face. What was going on?

"How long has he been here?" Sokrates asked the tavern lady.

"Oh, that good man there? He's been here since morning. Been buying drinks for everyone here since then. Bless him."

"See, Sokrates?" Alexios laughed, "I am good, and I don't even need your fancy philosophy!"

"Where did you get the money to buy all the drinks?" Kassandra asked.

"The world is drenched in drachmae. I don't see why you have to be so stingy."

“I’ve been worried, brother. Let’s go back to our place.”

“Our place?” Alexios cocked his head, “Might as well put me in a coffin. It’d be roomier in there. Come have a drink with me, Kassandra, before we never see each other again. I have no intention of going back with you or your friends. You’re all so boring!”

“Come with me, Alexios,” said Kassandra.

“Alexios who? My name is D... “

“Hush! We shall not use that cursed name here,” she crossed her arms, “Come with me, or I’ll make you.”

“Whoa, Kassandra. No one is going to make anyone do anything,” said Alkibiades, “Not in this fine establishment. Let me talk to him.”

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t like you, not anymore,” Alexios growled.

“But you like wine, yes?” Alkibiades sat next to Alexios. “I know this place. I can get you their special wine. They don’t serve it to just anyone, but I can convince them to serve it to someone as exceptional as you.”

“Fine! Go do whatever you want. I’ll indulge you and drink the damn wine.”

Alkibiades went and whispered something to the tavern lady. Then he handed her a pouch of drachmae. She went to the back of the tavern, and came back with a fancy goblet.

Alkibiades took it and set it in front of Alexios. “Drink up.”

Alexios drank the wine, and said, “What is it that you want from me?”

“Nothing, dear Lexie. I’ve missed you, that’s all.”

“Thought you would,” Alexios chuckled. Then he finished the drink. Soon after, he fell asleep and flopped down on the table.

“What was in that wine?” Kassandra asked Alkibiades.

“Sleeping potion, a tiny dose of it. Don’t worry. He’s fine. He’ll wake up within a few hours.”

“You have sleeping potion with you?”

“Of course. I have it with me all the time. You don’t, misthios? How unprepared!” said Alkibiades, “Now let’s take him to my house. It’s the nearest place we can take him.”

They took Alexios back to Alkibiades’s house, and put him in one of the guest rooms. Seeing that Alexios was safe, Sokrates left, but promised to come visit the next day.

Then Alkibiades told Kassandra, “You should take your and his stuff from the inn, and come stay here. That tiny, poorly ventilated room wouldn’t do him, or you, any good. It's better here. There are lots of people coming and going and keeping us company. You can't sink into yourself for too long here. It's a sanguine place. Besides, why are you sleeping in the same room as your brother? If money is the problem, I can help you find jobs. People talk, you know?”

“Let them talk,” she scoffed, “You see, Alkibiades, it’s true that I save money that way. But the real reason that I rent one small room is that I want to keep an eye on him for as much as possible. What I truly can’t afford is to lose him again.”

“I understand, and that’s precisely why I chose that room for him. There’s a peephole to that room… for political reasons, so you can keep watch. And your room won’t have a peephole, this I swear.”

“You have a room with a peephole? Why am I not surprised?” she blinked, “Still, you’re right. Thank you, Alkibiades. This place is much nicer than the inn. Alexios complains about that place all the time, it’s getting annoying. I’ll move our stuff here. When will he wake up, by the way?”

“Pretty soon, little goat. Any minute now.”

Alkibiades was right. Just a moment later, Alexios shouted from the room.

“Malaka!”

\-----

Alexios remembered this room. How could he not? This was the room where he would retreat whenever he and Alkibiades had a fight. Alkibiades would then come and try to make up. Then they'd fuck right here. He didn't know whether it was all the wine or being back in this room that gave him this atrocious headache he was having. Probably both.

There it came, the familiar knock on the door. "Come in," he said.

Alkibiades and Kassandra entered. They both wanted to come and hug him, this he could tell from their gestures.

"I'm disgusting. Don't come near me," said Alexios.

"Well, you could do with a proper bath, but I wouldn't call you disgusting, little brother."

"No, Kassandra. I've done a terrible thing, again. Alkibiades, I was hoping you'd mess up the dosage when you drugged me, and that's the only reason I let you. Yes, I knew."

"I don't care what you've done," said Kassandra.

"Then you should," said Alexios, "You should stop loving me merely because we are of the same blood."

"You're not of the same blood as I, and yet I like you," said Alkibiades, "I'm sure Kassie has other reasons for loving you, dear Lexie."

"You're both insane. Alkibiades, I killed your uncle. Kassandra, I killed your friend. I was raised on venom and violence as though those were milk. Why do you let me stay and risk me poisoning everything?"

"In one of my philosophy classes, I was told of this philosopher who'd said you couldn't step into the same river twice," said Alkibiades, "And that statement is so apparent in you, my dear."

"Well, you're wrong and so was that philosopher," Alexios cackled, "I just stepped into the same river of shit, the one I've been stepping in all my life, and I enjoyed it like a fucking pig!"

"Pigs don't… Never mind," said Kassandra, "I don't know what happened when you were gone, but I'm glad you're here. Alkibiades invited us to stay. I'll go take our stuff here. Then I'll be in another guest room if you want to talk."

"Another thing, before we leave you in peace," said Alkibiades, "I made a mistake last time by not being open with you, and I don't want to repeat that. That's why I'm letting you know that there's a peephole to this room. If you do anything self-destructive, we'll know."

"Even with my own room, there's still no privacy, is there? It doesn't matter. You can watch me piss in that pot for all I care," Alexios shrugged, "Now, may I have a proper bath like Kassandra suggested, and a hair of the dog before this headache make me do something stupid?"

"Of course, dear Lexie. Make yourself at home."

\-----

It was already noon when Alexios woke up the next day. He sniffed and slowly sat up, feeling a slight chill in his body again. This damn cold would not go away, which was strange. Though he could not claim to never get sick like Kassandra did, he was excellently healthy, injuries healed fast, and illnesses did not tend to stay long.

Except, of course, when it came to his mind, which hosted all kinds of afflictions that never left him, to the point where the familiar sick bed had become more appealing and comfortable than health. He had built a home in suffering, both for himself and for others who had the misfortune of encountering him.

Someone knocked on the door. He opened it and found Kassandra with a tray of light food. “I saw through the peephole that you woke up. Thought you might be hungry,” she said.

“I’m not, but thanks anyway,” he said before sitting back down on the bed. Kassandra put the tray down on the bedside table, and sat next to him.

“Hey,” she gave his shoulder a friendly, soft punch, “How are you doing?”

“I... “ he paused. Should he tell her the whole thing? No, he shouldn’t. “Everything's fine.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”

“It’s this rotten cold that just won’t go away.”

She smiled and touched his forehead. “You do feel a little bit warm. Maybe your body wants someone to take care of you, so it stays sick?”

“That can’t be it, Kassandra. You’re making this up so that you could treat me like a baby,” he pouted, "Anyway, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

He took a deep breath. "If one commits a bad act and it feels really good, does that act become good, or at least acceptable?"

"Your feelings aren't always a good measure of morality, Alexios. Doing the right thing doesn’t always make you feel good, and I believe the reverse, which is what you're asking, is true as well."

"How so? How about an example?"

"When I was still in Kephallonia, a little town there was inflicted with a plague. Ph… a little girl I knew asked me to see if her friend and their family survived. So I went to the town, and found that some priest and his guard had burnt everything down, and was about to kill that family to keep the plague from spreading. Now, you know how I feel about authority figures. I was enraged and was ready to kill. But, if kept the sick family alive, that'd endanger the whole of Kephallonia. I had to disregard my feelings, and let the priest kill them. It was awful!"

Alexios shook his head. "Come on, Kassandra. You should know that in such a situation, you kill everyone, both the family and the priest and his guards."

"That wouldn't have made me feel much better. I'd still feel sorry for the poor family."

"Right. I wasn't thinking about that. My bad."

"You'll have an advantage over me in moral decisions, then, in your coldness of heart," Kassandra chuckled, "But the point still stands: feelings are goat shit sometimes."

"But aren't they somewhat separate from you, those decisions that you make with your mind alone?"

"Doing the right thing because of your mind will only become separate from you if you don’t count your intellectual capacity as a part of you," she answered, "Yes, you are what you feel and desire, but you’re also much more than that."

“I suppose you're right," said Alexios. Now he knew he had to stop asking. Kassandra would never be just fine with what he had done. "Enough about my questions. How about you? How are you doing?”

“That’s unusual, you caring about someone who isn’t you,” she teased, “Well, there’s nothing new on my end. I’m just happy that you’re here, safe. Really, I thought I lost you. Sokrates, Alkibiades and I searched everywhere for you. Ikaros even led me to two corpses in a cave. I was terrified, thinking one of them was you! Turned out those weren’t you, which gave me such a relief. By the gods, I would hate for you to be them, especially the smaller one. His face was smashed! Poor souls.”

That was it! He could not keep the truth of his depravity from her any longer. “That cave, it was a bandit camp, wasn’t it? And the dead ones, one was a swordsman and another was an archer.”

Colours drained from her face. “How… How do you…”

“I killed them.”

Alexios could see that, upon hearing those three words, Kassandra tensed up. She clenched her fists and took deep breaths in an attempt to control her anger. “I’m sure you had a good reason for killing them in such a gruesome manner.”

“I didn’t, at least not for the second one I killed, the one with the smashed face,” he said, “The first one was pure self-defence. He attacked me. But the second one, as soon as he saw me kill the first, he dropped to his knees and begged for mercy, so I beat him to death, and I felt great doing so.”

“That does not make sense!”

“It does if you are me. Kassandra, when I tell you that I am not a good person, just believe me.”

“I do now,” she said before standing up and leaving the room.

\-----

True to his promise, Sokrates came to visit that afternoon. Alexios was still lounging in bed, having neither the will nor the desire to leave the diseased comfort.

"Your class has no sick leave, has it, Sokrates?" Alexios greeted him, "But I'm glad you're here. I have some questions that need answers."

"Ah, but you know that I know nothing," said Sokrates, "I cannot give you any answer that you do not already have in you."

Alexios shrugged. “I know how your method works, and that’s exactly what I need right now. Do you have a moment to spare?”

“I do. What are the questions, my friend?”

“Why is killing bad? I just killed two people, and I feel no guilt, only shame. I told Kassandra what I did, and now she won’t talk to me. But I felt shame even before that, because I knew most people would find me repulsive if they knew what I'd done—if they knew me—even though nothing felt wrong on my end. It’s like being naked. The air upon the skin feels more pleasant and freeing without garments, but the eyes that divert from the nakedness of my soul feel so, so unbearable.”

“Surely, there are a few differences between being naked and killing?”

“Of course. Any idiot knows that those two acts are not exactly the same!” said Alexios, “But is killing really so bad? I myself want to die, and there is not a single person in my life that I can’t stand to lose. If you’re to be gone from my life, I’ll be upset because there’s no other teachers like you. But then I’ll get on with my life, enjoying my terrible nature without your disapproval. Besides, didn’t I do those bandits a favour by relieving them from their weak, pathetic lives?”

“So you think that life has no inherent worth. Interesting. But how, then, do you weigh the value of each individual life? How can you judge whether a life is truly weak and pathetic, and thus deserves elimination?”

Alexios chuckled, “Sokrates, I don’t even value my own life, and I’m amazing. How can you expect me to value anyone else's?"

"Perhaps you cannot base your moral judgment on how you yourself feel without considering the point of view of those you kill as well?" said Sokrates without even a touch of exasperation in his voice. After all, this was Athens. He was used to all sorts of characters, many of whom were much more obnoxious and stubborn than Alexios.

Still, that sent Alexios into a defensive stance. "Here we go again. Yes, I'm self-absorbed beyond repair. You should know that by now," he crossed his arms, "I'll talk about someone else, then, to indulge you. Kassandra. I kept telling her to abhor me, and when she finally does, it enrages me. Must be her hypocrisy. She herself kills for a living, and yet she has the gall to be angry that I killed? I detest her so much!"

“You haven’t yet mentioned the nature of your killing, Alexios,” said Sokrates, “Perhaps it wasn't the killing that Kassandra objected to, but the way you killed?”

Alexios sighed, “Perhaps. I tortured one of them, and maybe that’s what angered her. She kills many, but she doesn’t like torture. By Hades, she didn't even torture Kleon! She takes pleasure seriously, and anything that reduces pleasure from the world is evil in her eyes. Damn hedonist! But torturing gives me pleasure. How can it be bad, then? Pleasure didn't decrease from the world when I tortured that man; it merely changed hands.”

“You’re right. You did not decrease pleasure,” said Sokrates, “You did, however, increase suffering in the world, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I did, yes," Alexios nodded, but would not accept defeat, "But is suffering always bad? What strength I have came from torture and pain."

"It is possible, yes, that suffering may have its time and place. If so, do you think that it was suffering's time and place when you tortured that person?"

"Fuck. You got me there," Alexios admitted at last, "It was mindless and unnecessary, what I did. I wasn't making him stronger. I was merely entertaining myself with his pain. What I should have done was to let that man go when he begged for mercy. Or if I really had to kill him to eliminate a threat, I should have done it quickly and humanely. I see now why what I did was wrong.

"But here's the thing, what I did _ felt _ right, even though it was morally wrong. I could have gone to see a tragedy in the theatre, and I would get a rather similar effect without hurting anyone. But it wouldn't have been half as enjoyable. The act felt right because it aligned so perfectly with who I am, so much so that I felt elated during and immediately after the act.”

“Ah, so torturing and killing made you feel authentic.”

“Precisely. I felt like myself for the first time in a long time.”

“Who are you, then, Alexios? Who is it that aligns so perfectly with torture and murder?” Sokrates asked.

Alexios went quiet and took a deep breath. It wasn’t easy to breathe, but he managed to get enough air in his lungs to form a semblance of an answer. “I’m not so sure who I am anymore, nor do I know who I want to be. Am I the person who feels ecstatic when he inflicts pain? Or am I the one who wants to die so that the world will be rid of his monstrosity? Do I want to be better, or do I want to stay sick? Do I crave domination, or do I desire freedom? I don’t know anymore. All I know now is how much I enjoy cruelty!”

“How do you know, then, whether your terrible act was authentically you, if you don’t even know yourself? Yes, you did feel great. But how do you know that it wasn’t just because the act was preserving a stale status quo that you mistook for your identity?”

“You really are a gadfly, Sokrates. Truth is, I do not know,” said Alexios, “But this reminds me, a few weeks ago, I met Aristophanes at a tavern. He was telling everyone a story that I found most fascinating, and relevant to the dilemma of who I am.”

“I’m interested. Do go on.”

“It was a story about love. Once upon a time, humans had two heads and eight limbs. With that much of us, we were unstoppable. The gods felt that we were too powerful, and cut us up in halves, so we are as we are now. That’s why we now seek our other half, to be complete again.[3]”

“What a peculiar story! I’ll have to ask him to tell me that story when I meet him again,“ Sokrates rubbed his chin.

“It was a strange story, and the storyteller was hiccuping the whole time, too, which made the experience even stranger!” Alexios smiled a little, “Everyone there loved the story. I, however, couldn’t relate. Even though I have one head and four limbs like most humans nowadays, I feel as if I already have two heads and eight limbs like those powerful ancient ones. I am Alexios and I am Deimos. There are two of us inside of me, and there is some sort of twisted love between them.”

“That’s enviable, given how you don’t need to find your missing half.”

“It would be if those two weren’t also looking to destroy each other.”

“So you don’t know yourself because of the conflicting character and desires between the two, I see,” Sokrates nodded, “Am I correct here?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Then you need to find out the sum of Alexios and Deimos. You two need to talk, alone, and sort out the terrible love you have for one another,” said Sokrates, “I wish I could help you, but the journey from this point on is yours. The wisdom of who you are is not mine to impart. You may, however, come talk to me after that.”

“Will this make me a good person?”

“I can’t guarantee, but it will help. I have hopes in you,” Sokrates answer, “The last time we talked, you mentioned Alkibiades and how I couldn’t make him good. Do you remember?"

"Yes. I'm sorry for saying that to you. I shouldn't have."

"Has he ever told you how I rejected him in this task?”

“I think he has, but I was too jealous to pay attention. Do tell me again.”

“He wanted to become virtuous, so he asked me to help him. In return, he offered all that he had, his beauty and all. I had to reject him, for even though he possessed such great beauty, it was conceited of him to think that his beauty even matches that of virtue. He was, in effect, devaluing wisdom. He wasn’t ready,[4]” Sokrates recounted, “You, however, offered nothing when you asked for my help. You were under no illusion that you possessed anything higher than the wisdom you would gain. For someone whose demeanor was as proud as yours, you were truly humble there. That’s why I have hopes in you.”

“So you didn’t agree to teach me because you thought I was smart enough to be taught? That’s disappointing to hear,” Alexios said, visibly saddened.

Sokrates chuckled and put a hand on Alexios’s shoulder. “It takes a special person to be humble, Alexios. And for what it's worth, you're smart enough."

“There’s one more thing I have to ask,” said Alexios, “Did you stop at Phoibe’s gravestone on purpose that day, to force me to obsess over the morality of what I have done? And if you did, did you choose that time because I was very low-spirited, and thus had much less arrogance as my defence as I usually do?”

"As I said, you’re smart,” said Sokrates, “I’ll leave you to yourselves here. Try not to tear each other apart, and may the gods bless you.”

\-----

It took Alexios three more days to finally be ready for Sokrates’s assignment. During those time, Kassandra still would not talk to him. She didn’t even look at him. Alkibiades still talked to him, however, even after he had told him about his latest atrocity. Thank the gods, Alexios thought, because he would have gone mad otherwise. Madder than he already was, that is.

“Make no mistake, dear Lexie. What you did was bad,” Alkibiades told him, “But I still talk to you because I’m not as invested in you as Kassandra is. I have no hope, and therefore no disappointment.”

Three days later, Alexios was sitting on his bed, swirling the fancy chalice of wine that Alkibiades gave him earlier. He was told that there were other ingredients in the wine, too, things that would take his mind to places.

But he put the glass down. He had to do this sober.

This was not easy. If it was, he would have done it long ago. He thought he knew himself, but truly he didn’t. He was afraid. It was fear of the unknown, the same fear he had when he first met Kassandra all those years ago. Was he afraid of himself? Or was he afraid to know that all that he had known about himself was a lie, and he would have to go through many uncomfortable changes just to rebuild himself?

It did not matter. Afraid or not, he would do this. Alexios closed his eyes, and entered his mindscape where Deimos waited.

“Not only are you weak, you are also a coward. What took you so long?” Deimos gave Alexios a disdainful smirk.

There wasn’t much light inside their mind, but it’s still clear to see that Deimos still stood proud in the golden armour that was as shiny and elegant as ever, unlike Alexios who was wearing plain civilian tunic and was exhausted. Alexios had to admit to himself that this other side of him was so attractive, so glamorous, and, dare he say, so desirable, and that fueled his resentment. Someone this insufferable had no right to be this beautiful!

“Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps it’s you, Deimos?” Alexios sneered back, “Nobody likes you. People simply tolerate you because they’re afraid you’ll fuck them up. And people who aren’t afraid, like Kassandra, they can’t help but turn away from you in disgust. You may think of yourself as a god, but if you are, you’d be nothing but Olympus’s refuse!”

“No, you’re right. Nobody likes me,” said Deimos, “But unlike you, I don’t need people to like me! Olympus’s refuse is still better than mere mortals. I don’t understand you. Why must you fight me? Why can’t you embrace our divinity?”

“Divinity?” Alexios jeered, “Were we divine when we tortured and killed those men in the cave? When we killed Kassandra’s friend because we couldn’t stand to feel our own pain? When we served those who called us their god but deemed us their tool?"

"Of course, I can count on you to latch onto our worst moments as our definitive ones. Why, one would think you enjoy being terrible even more than I do! Makes you feel less mediocre, doesn't it?" said Deimos, "Do any of those moments matter, though? We're still stronger than most humans!"

"We may be strong, but I can name so many animals that are stronger than most humans, or have abilities that most humans don't have," said Alexios, ignoring other accusations because they were true, "No fall damage? Cats share that attribute. Special senses? Ants can predict the weather and dogs can smell things that we don't. We are not divine because of our strength or powers. We are not divine!”

Deimos stomped around in frustration. “So you think you’re smart enough to know the nature of divinity, now that you’ve studied with Sokrates and conversed with intellectuals and done things smart people do. But you don’t know shit, you hear me? You don’t know shit about what it’s like to be divine!”

“And you do?”

“No, but that’s the thing. Nobody knows what it’s like to be a god. So, why not believe that we’re one? It’s much better than thinking of oneself as mere human.”

“Oh, is it?” said Alexios, “Tell me, were you happy when you were worshipped as one?"

"What has happiness got to do with it? I was put here to accomplish great things for the world, not to be happy. If you can't accept that destiny, then stay out of my way!"

Alexios looked at Deimos, and saw for the first time what Kassandra saw in him. This man had so much conviction (twisted though it may have been) that he was willing to sacrifice his own happiness. This was not a selfish person. Self-righteous, maybe, but far, far from selfish. At that moment, Alexios wanted to wrap his arms around his arch nemesis, and never let go.

"Aphrodite," said Alexios.

"What was that? Have you gone insane? This is so you."

"Aphrodite is the mother of the god you were named after, Deimos.”

“Is that supposed to mean anything?” Deimos growled.

“Probably not. It’s probably just a coincidence, and you’re just a moron who doesn’t know how to love,” said Alexios, “But I’d like to think that’s not the case. Deimos, can you… love me?”

This caught Deimos off guard. He hated this. He hated how tears threatened to fall down his cheeks, how he wanted so badly to give in to Alexios’s request but could not, and how, after all these years, Alexios could still not see that he had no heart.

And it hurt. Did the fact that it hurt mean that he might have a heart, after all, and that deep down that heart actually loved Alexios?

"I hate you," Deimos said, his voice trembling.

"No, you don't."

“Still, I don’t love.”

“Then accept me as I am, and I’ll do the same with you.”

“Why? What will we gain from this?”

“We’ll embrace each other instead of pining for death to embrace us. If you want to be a god, I’ll let you. Without so much anger for me, you’ll become a benevolent god, instead of a cruel, monstrous god who punishes the world for the weakness that you can't bear to see in me… in us,” said Alexios “And I, in turn, will not feel compelled by shame to destroy you… destroy us. I’ll be free to love you as much as I desire and really, that’s all I’ve ever desired.”

“What if… what if I’m still cruel after we’ve decided to embrace one another?” Deimos asked, feeling some treacherous tears falling from his eyes.

Alexios saw in Deimos the wounded child that had been hiding behind golden grandeur. He reached for him, holding him, and said, “Then I’ll hold you even tighter. I’ll hold you until you no longer need to be cruel.”

"But I'll be terrible, again and again, until you're tired of holding me," said Deimos, "And my thorns will prick at you."

"Yes, you will be terrible, and so will I. We'll claw at each other, time and time again, because that's how we are and change is not easy," said Alexios, "But each time, there'll be fewer cuts, and the cuts won't be as deep as the last time. Instead of tearing each other apart, we'll become better at existing together."

"You're a fool, Alexios."

"I know."

Deimos put his head on Alexios’s shoulder. Then, having a safe refuge in Alexios, the tears that had been damming inside of Deimos broke out in a violent sobbing. He did not know he had this many tears left in him. For most of his life, he had been assigning his tears to others. Sometimes he’d assign them to Alexios, but most of the times, he’d assign them by force upon those weaker than him. It surprised him to learn, at last, that it’s much, much more satisfying to own those tears and let them flow from him.

“Please take off my armour, Alexios. It’s heavy, and I don't need to be a god now.”

Alexios nodded and untied the strings at the sides of Deimos’s armour. Then he lifted off the constraining defence. Deimos looked much thinner and much more vulnerable without it, but this was the real him, and Alexios loved every inch of the real Deimos, even more than he loved the grandiose Deimos. They sat down on the ground. Alexios pulled Deimos close, caressed the face that was soaked with tears, and kissed the salty lips. Then Alexios found that his tears were falling as well. He pulled away to wipe them, but Deimos pulled his face back, and kissed the tears off his cheeks before pressing their lips together again.

In the next room, Alkibiades was looking at Alexios through the peephole. Kassandra had asked him to. Thought she couldn’t stand to look at her brother now, she still wanted to make sure he wasn’t doing anything reckless. Alkibiades agreed to help her, and kept watch regularly. After all, there were worse things to do than watching the grim beauty of his ex-lover, whom he was still very much attracted to.

What he saw made him glad that it was him, not Kassandra, who was watching. Alexios pulled up his tunic and exposed his erect cock. Then he caressed it with gentle yet passionate motions. His face, though bathed in tears, betrayed more pleasure than what Alkibiades had seen during all their times together. He wasn’t masturbating—he was making love to himself.

Needless to say, Alkibiades kept watching.

\-----

In the next morning, Alexios was bedridden with a high fever most likely caused by all the mental exhaustion he'd just gone through. Kassandra gave in, and sat by his side.

"You're awful, Alexios, but I love you anyway," she said as she stroked his hair.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. The fever might have dulled his mind somewhat, but he was still aware of what was going on. "I'll be better, I promise."

Kassandra gave him a weary but tender smile, kissed his hand, and left him to rest.

That evening, the fever subsided enough for him to sit up in bed. At his bedside table were some soup and bread. The laced wine was gone. And next to him on the edge of the bed, Kassandra perched like a guardian eagle.

"You're looking for the wine? Alkibiades drank it when you were asleep, said he gave it to you. He acted so funny afterward. That little malaka put something weird in it, hadn't he?" she said.

Alexios tried to make small talk back, but he couldn't. "Kassandra, I really am sorry," he said, his voice still hoarse and ill. Then he burst into tears. He still hadn't finished crying, not really. He didn't think he ever would.

Kassandra, being the loving sister that she was, held him and wiped his tears. Alexios felt that he didn't deserve her, and that feeling was confirmed when he lifted up his face and saw that she, too, was crying.

"No, Alexios, I'm sorry," she sobbed, "Maybe I pushed you too hard, or I haven't done enough. Maybe this whole Athens affair is stupid, and you should be in Sparta with mater and…"

He shushed her. "No, Kassandra. You've done nothing wrong. If you haven't done what you've done, I'd probably have slaughtered even more people, or gone through with my suicidal thoughts, or both."

"But you still tortured someone…"

"I did, but I've also changed," he said, "Before this, I wouldn't even have thought about it after the act, let alone spent my days and nights considering ethical angles of it and come to the conclusion that, no, I could not continue to do it. None of this would have happened if you didn't decide that I was worthy of redemption, and brought me here."

"Is any of that true?" she lifted her teary eyes towards him, "Because I really am not good at this, any of it. I'm not such a good person despite what you may think. I may have become better than I used to be, but I'm not good. I'm violent and greedy. I live a life of no purpose, no higher goal than to survive day by day and not be in too much pain. I don't always make the right choice. Really, I'm a mess. I have no business redeeming anyone."

He pulled her closer, and said, “You’re right, you have no business redeeming me, but not for the reasons that you think. At the risk of sounding arrogant yet again, I must say that only my actions can redeem me. Your kindness helps, so much, but my failures are mine alone, not yours. You’re not a mess. Well, you may be, somewhat. But I’m a bigger mess than you’ll ever be. It’s no competition, really.”

“No, that’s not arrogant. That’s actually… quite sweet,” she said as she wiped her tears.

“Sweet? I changed my mind. You’re terrible and it’s all your fault.”

“Go back to sleep, Alexios,” Kassandra shook her head and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I know that Kassandra kills Kleon cruelly in the book canon (unlike in the game where you can choose not to), but I fucking hate it and can probably write a whole essay on how it flies in the face of what makes an Assassin’s Creed hero. (Previous games make such a big deal out of humanising our enemies. Uncle Mario chides Ezio for kicking the body of his first kill, and after that he always says ‘Requiescat in pace’ to his fallen enemies. Connor shares a drink with his sworn enemy before killing him. Also these white room confessions from previous games that let us see the humanity in our enemies. Et cetera.) It’s so disappointing to see our newer hero be so unheroic here, especially after she’s been Socratic method’ed. So, I took the liberty of writing that little fix-it. :)
> 
> [2] That said, I still like the book enough to use a line from it.
> 
> [3] Aristophanes’ tale is taken from Plato’s Symposium. 
> 
> [4] Again, a story from Plato’s Symposium. At this point, I’m not sure if this fic is an AC Odyssey fic or a Symposium fic. Perhaps it’s both!


	5. Kassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It is only the gods who taste of death. Apollo has passed away, but Hyacinth, whom men say he slew, lives on. Nero and Narcissus are always with us." - Oscar Wilde
> 
> Since you’ve read this far, I’ll reward you with some sweet, delicious fluff in this chapter.
> 
> Also, don’t you just love it when drug lets you write meta shit?
> 
> Suggested listening: Bjork - “Crystalline”

It had been a little over a year since the siblings arrived at Athens. Kassandra wrote one of her letters home. Alexios asked her if he could read it.

"Sure. Go ahead." She handed him the papyrus.

The letter went as followed:

_ Kassandra to her mater Myrrine, very many greetings. I hope you and the rest of our family are in good health and free of trouble. (The latter is easier without Alexios and me, I reckon?) I am aware that it's been a while since we wrote to you. You must miss us terribly, as we miss you, but time moves faster here than back at home. We're doing well. Just as I have predicted, the bustling city, and the characterful people in it, had an enlivening, sanguine effect on Alexios. Also, the numerous conversations he's had with philosophers and other great minds here showed him what he didn’t know about the world and, more importantly, about himself. He's become much more self-aware and better at controlling his behaviours. He loses his temper much less these days. I'd go so far as to say that he smiles more as well! I know you're a Spartan at heart, mater, but you can't deny the positive effects that many Athenians have on Alexios, as they've had on me before. _

_ In your latest letter, you expressed concern over Alexios's health in regards to his imbalanced humours. Rest assured, mater. He is in good care of a fine doctor. Hippokrates recommended someone near Athens who could take Alexios's case. At first, the patient protested. He would rather be treated by the famous physician, not an obscure one, even though the latter’s location was more convenient to us. Then he met her, experienced her skills, and changed his mind. If she could change Alexios’s mind like that, then you know how impressive she is. _

_ And you know what the good news is? The doctor recently declared that Alexios's humours, though not fully healed—that process would take many, many more years, perhaps decades, if it could be done at all—were much more balanced. She then deemed him fit to combat again. He's now taking mercenary jobs like I do. He started by accompanying me to some of my tasks, and then he goes on to taking his own jobs. (The hardest part for him is talking to clients, but he’s trying and getting better at it.) He keeps saying that, to his surprise, he enjoys the freedom of being a hired blade, of getting to choose where, when, and with whom to work, rather than working under a rigid and abusive group of people that demanded godhood from him. He once told me something along this line: "I never thought I'd like being just a mercenary, and it is not my life's purpose by any means. But there is something liberating about being able to just show up and finish your job, and not having to kill yourself overperforming just to impress your so-called worshippers! I used to think you wasted your life and your talent for being a mere misthios without an ambition, Kassandra. How wrong I was!" Needless to say, I was happy to hear those words. (And to be honest, I am glad that he's now earning money for his expensive taste!) _

_ All in all, things are going well. I enjoy my little brother's company a great deal. I love talking to him during the night and roaming the city and beyond with him during the day. I've been alone for so long, it's good to have company, especially one within whom I can see myself and who can see himself in me. And I am happy that, piece by piece, we're putting ourselves back together again. Keep yourself safe, mater, until we meet again. _

"My taste isn't that expensive. You're just cheap!" Alexios frowned as he finished reading.

"With all the nice things I wrote about you, you choose to focus on this?" Kassandra laughed, "Well, I'm sorry that I'd rather keep from falling into poverty than bathe in the luxury I can't afford. Then again, I wouldn't know what it's like to have to prove myself through rich taste to compensate for my insecurity. That must be horrible!"

"Kassandra!" He crossed his arms in protest, and she laughed even harder. Teasing him, and knowing that she could rile him up without him being dangerously angry at her, made her feel like they were proper siblings. She hoped he didn't mind.

\-----

One night, just as a colourful symposium at Alkibiades's was starting to wind down, the siblings climbed up on his rooftop to chat.

“I’ve been obsessing over the myth of Narcissus[1] lately,” Alexios mused.

“Why? I’ve never liked that story. A boy punished for not being interested in a silly nymph? Please,” said Kassandra.

“Really? That’s your takeaway of the story?” he rolled his eyes. Then he cleared his throat, and said, “What I am thinking is this: what if Narcissus became aware that what he’s been pining for was nothing but a reflection, a grotesque mockery of his true essence? What if he removed himself from the water of lies, even though it’s painful to do so and he was still very much in love with his twisted reflection? Maybe he had begun to love his true self, but was still unable to love anyone beyond himself and his reflection. Where should he go?”

“Hmm,” she tried to jog her memory about the little tale she deemed ludicrous. There were so many variations of the myth that, in the end, she decided to disregard what she remembered of the story, and answered what felt right, “To Echo the nymph. In this scenario, she doesn’t die but was only pissed, because I find it too ridiculous for someone to die of rejection.”

“Echo? I thought you said she’s just a silly nymph.”

“And I stand by that. I also think she’s the key. Your Narcissus can’t love anyone but himself and his reflection, and she reflects his voice back to him. _ You _ will still be loving your reflection, but then you’ll also be loving another living, breathing being instead of cold, lifeless water,” said she, “Maybe one day you’ll be able to love someone who doesn’t speak with your voice. Maybe you won’t. But for now, you can try to listen for your echo in others, give love to it, and go from there. Trust me, there are many in the world whose voice echoes our own, even though they may look nothing like us.”

“Wait, ‘you’? We’re talking about Narcissus, not me!” Alexios's face became redder than the wine he’d been drinking. (He had since learnt to drink carefully, to make Dionysus his ally rather than his tyrant.) Of course, he was talking about himself. He just didn’t want her to know it. But she does, so there’s no point in keeping on pretending. “Well, Alkibiades sometimes calls me Narcissus. At first, I thought it was simply because he thought me handsome. But then I realised, maybe it wasn’t just that. Perhaps he also saw Narcissus’s tragedy in me.”

“I knew it!” she smiled, “Alkibiades is smarter than he lets on. So yes, that could be it. Does it distress you?”

“It doesn’t, really. It’s just something I need to think about, that’s all. I like my life right now,” he said, with sincerity and confidence this time, “Some of my torment is still here, of course. It’d be absurd for pain to just go away when it has long been a part of me. But now it’s dull throbbings instead of the sharp pangs that used to make me want to die.”

“I know exactly what you mean. To not be weighed down by one’s pain, that’s how one survives. That, and adequate sleep.”

“I don’t know, sister. Even my insomnia is different now,” said he, “It used to be that I was too tormented and anxious to sleep. Now I don’t want to sleep because there are so many friends to meet and so much fun to be had. With the Cult, I didn’t even know that it’s possible to feel this way.”

She chuckled, “You still have to sleep, and slumber is a pleasure in its own right.”

“Yes, _ mater _. I'll have to ignore my nightmares, though, for sleep to actually be pleasurable. But you're right, I do need sleep,” he half-smiled, “This reminds me, I’m running out of the sleeping herbs that Hippokrates recommended. Will you go pick them with me?”

“Yes, but not before I catch _ my _ sleep.”

\-----

When morning came, they went into the forest outside of town to gather the herbs. They had to slay a pesky lynx that attacked them on the way there, but it was otherwise peaceful. Wrapped in light swirls of mist and morning bird songs, they relaxed and exchanged banters. It was a drastic change from not so long ago, when they almost killed each other.

Then, Alexios spotted something, and gasped, “I know these flowers! I didn’t know they grew here too.”

“I never thought of you as a flora enthusiast, dear brother.”

“Kassandra, these flowers are special! When I was a boy, one of the jobs I had to do for the Cult was to gather this exact kind of flowers in a wolf-infested area, and those malakes Cultists would beat me black and blue if I got the wrong flowers. They’re for the Pythia. These flowers help keep her in an authentic trance-like state.”

“I thought it was the fume from below the temple itself that did the job.”

“Yes, but sometimes that needs a little botanical help too. And by the gods, does it help!” said Alexios, still excited, “One day, I kept one of these flowers for myself without telling the Cult. That night, I went to a place where no one could find me and tried it. The Pythia didn’t even use a whole flower at once, but I did. It took me to the edge of the universe, way beyond Kronos, even beyond fixed stars yet to be named. I went as Deimos, and saw there, unclothed and unadorned, Alexios. He was hanging upside down, asleep and yet aware.”

“That sounds intense. And I thought those mushrooms I had were strong just because I chased the chickens I thought ate my drachmae, and saw eyeballs growing on trees!”

“Ah, you and your drachmae! I saw eyeballs too, though,” he shook his head and laughed, “Back then, I didn’t like what I see. Alexios, I mean, not those fun eyeballs. Alexios seemed… weak. I didn’t want to be him. In fact, most of my life had been spent doing whatever I could not to be him. I didn’t even know that, deep down, he was what every fibre of my being yearned to be. I didn’t know that what I saw in him wasn’t weakness; it was trust and openness, stuff that let love flow through a person. But I know all of that now.”

“What happened that let you know it?”

“You happened, Kassandra,” said he, “That day on Mount Taygetos, just as I was pushing my sword towards you, you stood there, eyes almost closed but still aware. Your head tilted back to expose a bare neck, as if ready to be slain. Your hands were outstretched, with your weapon laid on them in a peace offering. You reminded me of the Alexios I saw in my vision. You were perfectly vulnerable, yet you were beautiful and strong and you radiated love. That’s when I saw beauty and strength in being Alexios as well. That’s why I followed you down the mountain as both Deimos and Alexios, and not just the former.

“Things haven’t been easy, of course. Being Alexios has been quite an Odyssey, one that often threatens to drown me, but the memory of you on that day keeps me afloat. Thank you, sister. I feel like I don’t show you enough appreciation for that, and for everything else you’ve done for me.”

She went speechless for a minute. Then she said, “Truth be told, I was scared on that mountain. But, I was convinced you could be saved, and that gave me the courage to trust you.”

“Oh?”

“You told us your friend had been killed by a lioness. I remember thinking, ‘He had a friend?’ You didn’t refer to them as playmate or training partner or something disposable. That person was your _ friend _. That you could form friendship at all was at first a surprise. Then it confirmed what I already believed deep down—you were capable of human connection.”

He wiped a small drop of tear from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t think what I said was worthy of your tears, dear brother. Or maybe it was. Never mind, I’ll ask Aristophanes, just to make sure,” she jested to lighten the mood.

“Don’t you ever say anything about this to him! Malaka! I don’t want to end up in his plays!”

She laughed, "You won't! You're too unremarkable, remember?"

The siblings continued to pick herbs and exchange banters. Soon they had all the herbs Alexios needed. It’s time to head back.

“Kassandra, I think we should take the flowers with us.”

“Yes, they’ll look good in a vase.”

“Really?” he rolled his eyes, “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“I don’t know,” said she, “That time I took the mushrooms, the next morning, a Trojan horse appeared on the beach we were on, and we had to fight. I wasn’t even sure who or what I was fighting with half of the time.”

“We won’t be on the beach this time. We’ll lock our room and give no indication to the outside world that we’re intoxicated,” said he, “I’d love us to use these flowers, together. I want you to meet Alexios at the edge of the universe.”

“But I may not go to the same universe as you,” said she, “I took the mushrooms with a bunch of soldiers. None of us saw the same thing. We don’t know if the flowers work differently or not.”

“But I’m your brother.”

“I know, and I love you. But there’s no guarantee that we will go to the same place. Will it be alright if, instead of Alexios, I meet Kassandra at the edge of my own universe?”

For a split second, it looked like Alexios was going to cry for real. Then he realised that this was not a rejection. Kassandra did not say that she didn’t want to join him, merely that she was her own person with her own universe inside her mind, just like him. Months ago, he wouldn’t have understood this. He would have stormed off, angry and hurt. But he’s better than that now.

“I am willing to accept that, Kassandra.”

\-----

The siblings were now back in Kassandra’s room at Alkibiades's. (Kassandra had used Athena’s sight to scan the room and make sure there was no peephole.) The room was safe and aesthetically pleasing, with nothing that would induce bad visions. Weapons were kept locked in a chest, to keep them from harming themselves or each other in the unpredictability of their mind’s journey. They took no risk, lest the flowers took them to the part of their mind where Hades ruled.

Then they swallowed the flowers’ brew, and waited.

“Will it take long until the visions starts?” Kassandra asked as soon as she took it.

“And I’m the impatient one!” Alexios chuckled, “No, it won’t take long at all.”

He was right. Soon, the world they saw and felt became different. Colours, light, and shadow became more intense. Textures on surfaces moved and danced. Their movements left glowing trails midair. Sounds of the busy street outside were distorted into an otherworldly hum.

Then they looked at each other.

“Deimos?” said Alexios as he looked at Kassandra’s face. It was still Kassandra who sat before him. Her face appeared different, however. There was now a harshness to it that hadn’t been there before. Her skin was paler, her mouth twisted slightly with the anger and fear of an injured beast. Her eyes were lined with heavy dark circles of tortured, sleepless nights. When he peered harder into them, he saw a hurt child who didn’t have a chance to grow, much like who he was before he was saved. And yet, there was something beautiful and pure underneath it all, a seedling of love that the Cult could not kill.

“Misthios?” said Kassandra, looking back at Alexios. It was still Alexios, but he seemed different. His face was softer, gentler. The beastliness in his looks was all but gone. He still looked like a warrior, but one who was also a lover and a nurturer. Even his pain appeared more refined. There was also a look of confusion that had not previously been there. On his face, there was the dizziness of a drifter who never had a creed to call his own, and the emptiness that led him to chase one random thing after another to keep from being too disturbed by the seasickness that was his life.

They saw both themselves and one another in their own universes, which were now coalescing into one.

“In another life, I could have been you, and you could have been me. We’re each other’s reflection and echo. There is oneness between the two of us,” said one of them.

“And yet, we almost didn’t make it long enough to experience this oneness today. We could have ended up in so many different ways,” said another, “Think about it. Had anyone in our world made a tiny but relevant choice differently even years ago, today wouldn’t be what it is now. One or both of us could have even been dead.”

“Yes, it does make one think. This universe we share, this moment of happiness, it’s such a rare, precious thing, isn’t it?”

They lay down on the large bed, clasping each other’s hand, feeling each other’s scar.

“Kassandra,” said Alexios, “I think I see eyeballs growing out of your hair right now.”

“What? Gross!”

Then they giggled like children, as if to make up for the childhood they didn’t get to spend together.

The air around them took forms, and colour exploded on the walls. Through laughter and tears and heightened emotions, they took turns telling one another things that were deep in their mind—some comedic, some tragic, and some tragicomedic—and the stories and ideas they related helped weave their sibling’s visions. The two kindred journeys converged, diverged, and converged again and again.

As Nyx graced the sky outside, the flowers’ effect started to wear off. Kassandra then drifted off to sleep. Alexios couldn’t, so instead he watched as his sister fell into Hypnos’ embrace. He half expected himself to be envious of her ability to sleep and angry at his own throbbing, sleepless mind, but he wasn’t in the slightest. Maybe it was the flower, but there was nothing but love in his heart now. He reached towards her hair, and then stopped before his fingertip even touched it.

He sighed. Even now, he still struggled to express love. So he only watched. He didn’t know what dreams traversed her mind, but she looked so peaceful.

Too peaceful.

“Kassandra?”

No response.

He panicked. It would be too great, too painful an irony if she were to die now, when he no longer wanted her to. And it would be his fault for having asked her to do this. Textures on the walls moved to form faint outlines of Cultist masks, as if to taunt him. He knew that the possibility of her dying was extremely slight, negligible even. Still, terrible thoughts ran through his head. What if, despite knowing the flowers by heart, he still picked wrong ones that were poisonous? What if the Cult had actually been slowly poisoning the Pythia with the flowers and he didn’t know? What if a whole flower was too much? What if he made the simple brew, one that he made successfully when he was but a boy, the wrong way this time? Of course, none of these thoughts made sense, and he knew that the panic was just a nasty side effect of the flower, but Pan’s dreadful shouts chased reason away from his mind.

He grabbed her shoulder and shook her. “Kassandra, are you alright? Wake up!” he cried, “I can’t lose you! Not when I’ve already loved you! I love you!”

She opened her bleary eyes, sat up, and said, “Alexios, unlike you, I actually like sleep.”

Relieved, he gave his sister a tight hug. Then he wept, “I thought you died…”

“Ela, ela. It’s alright. I’m here,” said she, hugging him back, gently stroking his hair, “And I love you too. Come lie down and try to sleep, little brother.”

He lay down beside her, close enough to hear her breathing. She continued to stroke his hair. Then she whispered a song he didn’t remember but knew in his heart:

_ Faith's hand will guide you, _ __  
_ Travel in path alone, _  
_Back to the warmth of home._[2]

For the first time since he could remember, it felt safe to just sleep.

Alexios woke up the next morning, and the world still glowed with love. The love he felt could merely be a lingering effect of the flower, but it could also be something that had already been in his heart all along, barely discovered yet very much alive. He’d like to believe that it’s the latter.

Kassandra had already got up and was getting ready for the new day. Her hair was already neatly braided. As soon as she saw him wake up, she smiled and greeted him.

“Good morning, Alexios,” said she, “Do I still have eyeballs in my hair?”

He grinned, “Yes, you do. And they’re all bloody and scary, just like you.”

She laughed, “Now you’re shitting me.” Then she continued to prepare her things as he stretched and tried to get up. There was a gentle quietness between them.

Then he said, “About last night, I meant what I said, you know?”

“You said a lot of things, brother.”

He gulped. Why was it so hard to say it now? But then he shouldn't have been such a coward, should he? He took a deep breath, and said, “I meant it when I said I loved you. I love you, Kassandra.”

She said nothing. Instead, she put down her items, jumped onto the bed, and gave her little brother the warmest, most sincere hug.

Then she cried.

“I…”

“I know,” said he, hugging her in return, feeling her hot tears on his shoulder. Her psyche was much less damaged than his, but she still shared much of the hurt that he had. She might have given love more freely than he could, but to be on the receiving end of familial love was still a shock to her system. A good shock, but a shock nonetheless. Hence the tears. Alexios understood this because he had the same tears back when she saved him.

\-----

“I want to go home,” said Alexios during breakfast, his heart still floating in dreams of the flower.

“Why? Don’t you like it here?” asked Kassandra.

“I do like it here. At least, I know I’m going to miss non-Spartan food, if nothing else,” said he, dipping fine bread in his cup of rich wine, “I’m going to miss Alkibiades and Sokrates, among others. And Sparta will be dreadfully boring, now that I know there’s much more to life than war. But last night, I felt so much love, and I want to share it with mater and even pater. By Hades, even that malaka Stentor! I know we write them letters, but I don’t think ink and papyri would be enough to contain the love I feel now. Kassandra, I miss them.”

Kassandra smiled. Her heart, too, was drenched in the same love her brother was feeling.

Soon, they arranged a party to say goodbye to their friends and for Alexios to thank everyone who had helped him. Later, Alexios would tell Kassandra that he got more hugs for the occasion than he’d ever had in his entire life.

Alexios looked at the city for the last time before leaving, soaking in the sights and sounds. Everything felt different when one was no longer a god. Now he could see and feel what he used to overlook in disdain, and realised how much beauty and pleasure he had been missing. Even human touch was warmer, now that he truly knew that he was not the lone god on earth but a human, with other humans by his side.

Then they travelled home.

They rode past a small village. Just as they were about to leave its vicinity, a small boy ran towards them.

“Help! My sister fell down an old well. Can you help her, please?” the child cried.

Before Kassandra could even open her mouth, Alexios said, “Of course. Can you lead us to that well?”

The child thanked them and led them to a well that was no longer in use. The well was rather deep, and there was a snake crawling near the girl and a cat, but the stones looked climbable. Without a thought or a plan, Alexios quickly climbed down.

Kassandra shook her head. Alexios was nothing if not impulsive. She would have done something with the snake from a safe distance first. Not that she thought he couldn’t fight a snake, but still. Too late now. The well was too narrow. She couldn't do anything with him blocking the way. And seeing the look on his face, she knew she couldn’t just ask him to climb back up.

“I’ll go get a rope,” she shouted into the well, “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m away.”

“I don’t need a rope,” he shouted back.

“Neither do I, but I’m still getting it, just in case. I won’t just stand around and watch you climb. It’s boring,” said she before walking away.

Alexios growled at his sister just before he reached the bottom of the well. “Thank the gods!” said the girl, who seemed to have sprained her wrist but was otherwise safe, “I’m scared of that snake.”

He took a look at the snake, and said, “Don’t be. This one is harmless. I used to have a pet snake that looked just like it.”

She looked relieved. He lifted her on his back and started to climb up.

“Can we take my cat up too?” she asked.

“I have only two hands.”

“I can hold him.”

“Not with your sprained wrist, no. You’ll fall,” Alexios grunted, “Stop bothering me about that cat, or I’ll leave you both down here.”

The child was saddened and quiet for a minute. Then she started talking again, “How did you end up with a pet snake?”

“The people I grew up with, they really liked snakes. When I caused too much trouble and they could no longer beat me into submission, they gave me that living toy to distract me,” he answered.

“What does ‘submission’ mean?”

“It means your parents need to find you a better teacher who can teach you words,” he groaned, “Now, will you please shut up? One of us is climbing here.”

Soon he reached the top of the well and climbed out. The children thanked him. Then the boy asked about the cat.

“I’m not climbing back down just for a cat!” said Alexios, “Yes, it’ll die, but every living thing dies. Get a new pet.”

The children started crying, and Alexios was too upset to console them. They didn’t see that Kassandra was already back, and she was holding the cat.

“It’s faster to climb with a rope, you know?” said she.

Suddenly, the children stopped crying and hugged both Kassandra and Alexios, thanking them again and again. Kassandra smiled. Alexios wanted to scream.

“I want to be strong like you two when I grow up,” said one of the children, “How can I get strong?”

“You just have to train until you throw up and your whole body is sore and you can barely move the next day. Then you do it again and again, day after day despite the pain,” said Alexios, “It also helps to have someone beat you within an inch of your life if you refuse to train.”

There was a look of horror in the children’s faces.

“That’s nonsense,” said Kassandra, more to Alexios than to the children, “I wasn’t beaten and I turned out fine. You just have to be very poor and have your strength be the only mean of survival. It worked for me.”

The look of horror in the children’s faces got worse.

Kassandra laughed, “We’re just kidding. You just have to train hard, that’s all. But you don’t need to be physically strong if that’s not your thing. If you’re not as strong as we are, but you can come up with great philosophy we never could, that’d be amazing too.”

The children smiled again.

“We have to go now. Don’t fall into another well. We won’t be there to save you,” said Alexios, anxious to leave these annoying children.

Alexios and Kassandra then continued their ride. “You don’t have to be so grumpy, brother. We just saved a child and a cat!” said Kassandra as soon as they went out of the children’s earshot.

“I hate cats,” said Alexios. He’d always distrusted all kinds of felines ever since he saw his friend killed by a lioness. “And unlike you, I’m not so fond of children, either.”

“Still, you saved a human being, and that’s a good thing. Don’t frown.”

Of course Alexios had to frown. The task was beneath him. Anyone could have done it. Just a year ago, if someone asked for his help, he would either told them it was none of his business, or helped them just to buttress his heroic image.

But this?

He just couldn’t have ridden away. He knew that Kassandra, Sokrates, and others whom he cared about wouldn’t want him to revert back to his old disdainful way. Therefore, he decided to save the girl even though he would gain nothing from the action.

It did not feel good. Kassandra was right that doing good things would not always feel good. But it would have felt even worse to just ignore the children. He hated this. It made him miss the person he used to be. He missed delighting in others’ misery instead of feeling it’s his duty as a fellow human to alleviate it.

Then he remembered that his old self never felt the love that always embraced him now, not even after using the flower. With this realisation, he finally could smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Yes, I am aware that the story of Narcissus and Echo was first recorded centuries after the game’s events. But it fits the whole thing so well that I allow the anachronism. Besides, it’s entirely possible that the story existed in the oral tradition back then.
> 
> [2] Kassandra’s lullaby comes from the official soundtrack of the game.
> 
> Wow, you made it here! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. At first, I just wanted to write something fun for a character I fell in love with. But the more I thought about him, the more I saw myself in him, and the fic became this... self-indulgent rambling. lol In a way, writing this fic feels like writing in the diary, and it took a long time to write because so much of it hits so close to home. That's how personal it is, and it's humbling that I get to share it all with you.


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